Deus tuorum militum

O Thou, of all thy warriors Lord,
Thyself the crown, and sure reward;
Set us from sinful fetters free,
Who sing thy Martyr’s victory.

In selfish pleasures’ worldly round
The taste of bitter gall he found;
But sweet to him was thy blest Name,
And thus to heavenly joys he came.

Right manfully his cross he bore,
And ran his race of torments sore:
For Thee he pour’d his life away;
With Thee he lives in endless day.

We, then, before Thee bending low,
Intreat Thee, Lord, thy love to shew
On this the day thy Martyr died,
Who in thy Saints art glorified!

Now to the Father, and the Son,
Be glory while the ages run;
The same, O Holy Ghost, to Thee!
Through ages of eternity.