An Hymn of the Ascension

Bright portals of the sky,
Emboss'd with sparkling stars,
Doors of eternity,
With diamantine bars,
Your arras rich uphold,
Loose all your bolts and springs,
Ope wide your leaves of gold,
That in your roofs may come the King of kings.

Scarf'd in a rosy cloud,
He doth ascend the air;
Straight doth the moon him shroud
With her resplendent hair;
The next encrystall'd light
Submits to him its beams,
And he doth trace the height
Of that fair lamp which flames of beauty streams.

He towers those golden bounds
He did to sun bequeath;
The higher wand'ring rounds
Are found his feet beneath;
The milky-way comes near,
Heaven's axle seems to bend,
Above each turning sphere
That, rob'd in glory, heaven's King may ascend.

O well-spring of this All!
Thy father's image vive;
Word, that from nought did call
What is, doth reason, live;
The soul's eternal food,
Earth's joy, delight of heaven;
All truth, love, beauty, good:
To thee, to thee be praises ever given!

What was dismarshall'd late
In this thy noble frame,
And lost the prime estate,
Hath reobtain'd the same,
Is now most perfect seen;
Streams which diverted were,
And troubled stray'd unclean
From their first source, by thee home turned are.

By thee that blemish old
Of Eden's leprous prince,
Which on his race took hold,
And him exil'd from thence,
Now put away is far:
With sword, in ireful guise,
No cherub more shall bar
Poor man the entries into Paradise.

By thee those spirits pure,
First children of the light,
Now fixed stand and sure
In their eternal right;
Now human companies
Renew their ruin'd wall;
Fall'n man, as thou mak'st rise,
Thou giv'st to angels, that they shall not fall.

By thee that prince of sin,
That doth with mischief swell,
Hath lost what he did win,
And shall endungeon'd dwell;
His spoils are made thy prey,
His fanes are sacked and torn,
His altars raz'd away,
And what ador'd was late, now lies a scorn.

These mansions, pure and clear,
Which are not made by hands,
Which once by him joy'd were,
And his, then not stain'd, bands
(Now forfeit'd, dispossess'd,
And headlong from them thrown),
Shall Adam's heirs make blest,
By thee, their great Redeemer, made their own.

O well-spring of this All!
Thy father's image vive;
Word, that from nought did call
What is, doth reason, live;
Whose work is but to will,
God's coeternal Son,
Great banisher of ill!
By none but thee could these great deeds be done.

Now each ethereal gate
To him hath opened been,
And glory's King in state
His palace enters in;
Now com'd is this high priest
In the most holy place,
Not without blood address'd,
With glory heaven, the earth to crown with grace.

Stars which all eyes were late,
And did with wonder burn,
His name to celebrate,
In flaming tongues them turn;
Their orby crystals move
More active than before,
And entheate from above,
Their sovereign prince laud, glorify, adore.

The quires of happy souls,
Wak'd with that music sweet,
Whose descant care controls,
Their Lord in triumph meet;
The spotless sprights of light
His trophies do extol,
And, arch'd in squadrons bright,
Greet their great Victor in his Capitol.

O glory of the heaven!
O sole delight of earth!
To thee all power be given,
God's uncreated birth!
Of mankind lover true,
Indearer of his wrong,
Who dost the world renew,
Still be thou our salvation and our song!
From top of Olivet such notes did rise,
When man's Redeemer did transcend the skies.