A solis ortus cardine

From the far-blazing gate of morn
To earth’s remotest shore,
Let every tongue confess to Him
Whom holy Mary bore.

Lo! the great Maker of the world,
Lord of eternal years,
To save his creatures, veil’d beneath
A creature’s form appears.

A spotless maiden’s virgin breast
With heav’nly grace He fills;
In her pure womb He is conceiv’d,
And there in secret dwells.

That bosom, Chastity’s sweet home,
Becomes, oh, blest reward!
The shrine of Heav’n’s immortal King,
The temple of the Lord.

And Mary bears the babe, foretold
By an Archangel’s voice;
Whose presence made the Baptist leap,
And in the womb rejoice.

A manger scantly strewn with hay
Becomes th’ Eternal’s bed;
And He, who feeds each smallest bird,
Himself with milk is fed.

Straightway with joy the Heav’ns are fill’d,
The hosts angelic sing;
And shepherds hasten to adore
Their Shepherd and their King.

Praise to the Father! praise to Thee,
Thou Virgin’s holy Son!
Praise to the Spirit Paraclete,
While endless ages run.