Ut queant laxis resonare fibris

Unloose, great Baptist, our sin-fetter’d lips;
That with enfranchis’d voice we may proclaim
The miracles of thy transcendent life,
Thy deeds of matchless fame!

Oh, lot sublime! an Angel quits the skies,
Thy birth, thy name, thy glory to declare
Unto thy priestly sire; while to the Lord
He offers Israel’s prayer.

Mistrustful of the promise from on high,
His speech forsakes him at the angel’s word;
But thou on thine eighth day dost reattune
For him the vocal chord.

No marvel; since yet cloister’d in the womb,
The presence of thy King had thee inspir’d;
What time Elizabeth and Mary sang,
With joy prophetic fir’d.

Immortal glory to the Father be,
With his Almighty sole-begotten Son,
And Thee, coequal Spirit, One in Three,
While endless ages run.