Iam Christus astra ascenderat

Above the starry spheres,
To where He was before,
Christ had gone up, soon from on high
The Father’s gift to pour:

And now had fully come,
On mystic cycle borne
Of sev’n times sev’n revolving days,
The Pentecostal morn:

When, as the Apostles knelt
At the third hour in prayer,
A sudden rushing sound proclaim’d
The God of glory near.

Forthwith a tongue of fire
Alights on every brow;
Each breast receives the Father’s light
The Word’s enkindling glow.

The Holy Ghost on all
Is mightily outpour’d;
Who straight in divers tongues declare
The wonders of the Lord.

While strangers of all climes
Flock round from far and near,
And with amazement, each at once
Their native accents hear.

But Judah, faithless still,
Denies the hand divine;
And madly jeers the Saints of Christ,
As drunk with new-made wine.

Till Peter in the midst
Stood up, and spake aloud;
And their perfidious falsity
By Joel’s witness shew’d.

Praise to the Father be!
Praise to the Son who rose!
Praise, Holy Paraclete, to Thee,
While age on ages flows!