Ad templa nos rursus vocat

Again the Sunday morn
Calls us to prayer and praise;
Waking our hearts to gratitude
With its enlivening rays.

But Christ yet brighter shone,
Quenching the morning beam;
When triumphing from death He rose,
And rais’d us up with Him.

When first the world sprang forth,
In majesty array’d.
And bath’d in streams of purest light;
What power was there display’d!

But oh, what love!—when Christ,
For our transgressions slain,
Was by th’ Eternal Father rais’d
For us to life again.

His new-created world,
The mighty Maker view’d,
With thousand lovely tints adorn’d;
And straight pronounc’d it good.

But oh! much more He joy’d
That self-same world to see,
Wash’d in the Lamb’s all-saving Blood,
From its impurity.

Nature each day renews
Her beauty evermore;
Whence to God’s hidden Majesty,
The soul is taught to soar.

But Christ, the Light of all,
The Father’s Image blest,
Gives us to see our God Himself
In Flesh made manifest.

Blest Trinity! vouchsafe
That to thy guidance true,
What Thou forbiddest, we may shun;
What Thou commandest, do.