Hymn for the Lighting of the Lamps

Blest Lord, Creator of the glowing light,At Whose behest the hours successive move,The sun has set: black darkness broods above:Christ! light Thy faithful through the coming night.

Thy courts are lit with stars unnumbered,And in the cloudless vault the pale moon rides;Yet Thou dost bid us seek the fire that hidesTill swift we strike it from its flinty bed.

So man may learn that in Christ's body cameThe hidden hope of light to mortals given:He is the Rock--'tis His own word--that rivenSends forth to all our race the eternal flame.

From lamps that brim with rich and fragrant oil,Or torches dry this heaven-sent fire we feed;Or make us rushlights from the flowering reedAnd wax, whereon the bees have spent their toil.

Bright glows the light, whether the resin thickOf pine-brand flares, or waxen tapers burnWith melting radiance, or the hollow urnYields its stored sweetness to the thirsty wick.

Beneath the might of fire, in slow decayThe scented tears of glowing nectar fall;Lower and lower droops the candle tallAnd ever dwindling weeps itself away.

So by Thy gifts, great Father, hearth and hallAre all ablaze with points of twinkling lightThat vie with daylight spent; and vanquished NightRends, as she flies away, her sable pall.

Who knoweth not that from high Heaven first cameOur light, from God Himself the rushing fire?For Moses erst, amid the prickly brier,Saw God made manifest in lambent flame.

Ah, happy he! deemed worthy face to faceTo see heaven's Lord within that sacred brake;Bidden the sandals from his feet to take,Nor with his shoon defile that holy place.

The mighty children of the chosen name,Saved by the merits of their sires, and freeAfter long years of savage tyranny,Through the drear desert followed still that flame.

Striking their camp beneath the silent nightWhere'er they went, to lead their darkling way,The cloud of glory lent its guiding rayAnd shone more splendid than the noonday light.

But, mad with jealous fury, Egypt's kingCalls his great host to battle for their lord:Swiftly the cohorts gather at his word,And down the mail-clad lines the clarions ring.

Girding their trusty swords the warriors goTo fill the ranks; hoarse bugles rend the air;These seize their massy javelins, these prepareThe death-winged arrow and the Cretan bow.

The footmen throng in close battalions pressed;The chariots thunder; to the saddle springThe riders of the Nile, as forth they flingEgypt's proud banner with the serpent crest.

And now, forgetful of the bondage past,Thy children, tortured by the desert heat,Drag to the Red Sea's brink their weary feet,And on its sandy margin rest at last.

See! with their forsworn king the savage foeDraws nigh: the threatening squadrons nearer ride;But ever onward urged the intrepid guideAnd through the waves bade Israel fearless go.

Before that steadfast march the billows fall,Then raise on either hand their crystal mass,While through the sundered deep Thy people passAnd ocean guards them with a liquid wall.

But, mad with baffled rage, the dusky hordeOf Egypt, by their impious despot led,Athirst the hated Hebrews' blood to shedPursued, all reckless of the o'er-arching flood.

Swift as the wind the royal squadrons ride,But swifter yet the crystal barriers break,The waves exultantly their bounds forsakeAnd roll together in a roaring tide.

'Mid steeds and chariots and drifting mailThe drowned lords of Egypt found a graveWith all their swart retainers 'neath the wave;And in their haughty courts the mourners wail.

What tongue, O Christ, Thy glories can unfold?Thine was the arm, outstretched in wrath, that madeThe stricken land of Pharaoh, sore afraid,Bow down before Thy minister of old.

Thy pathless deep did at the voice restrainIts surging billows, till with Thee for guideThy host passed scathless, and the refluent tideSwept down the wicked to the engulfing main.

At Thy command the desert, parched and dry,Breaks into laughing rills, and water clearWells from the smitten rock Thy flock to cheerAnd quench their thirst beneath that brazen sky.

Then Marah's bitterness grew passing sweet,Touched by the mystic tree; so by the graceOf Thine own Tree, O Christ, our sinful raceRegains its lost hopes at Thy pierced feet.

Faster than icy hail the manna falls,Like snow down drifting from a wintry sky;The feast is set: they heap the tables highWith that rich food from Thy celestial halls.

Fresh blow the breezes from the distant shoreAnd bear a fluttering cloud that hides the light,Till the frail pinions, faltering in their flight,Sink in the wilderness to rise no more.

How great the love of God's own Son, that shedSuch wondrous bounty on His chosen race!And still to us He proffers in His graceThe mystic Feast, wherewith our souls are fed.

Through the world's raging sea He bids us come,And 'twixt the sundered billows guides our path,Till, spent and wearied with the ocean's wrath,He calls His storm-tossed saints to Heaven and home.

There in His paradise red roses blow,With golden daffodils and lilies paleAnd gentle violets, and down the valeThe murmuring rivulets for ever flow.

Sweet balsams, welling from the slender tree,And precious spices fill the fragrant air,And, hiding by the stream, that blossom rareWhose leaves the river hurries to the sea.

There the blest souls with one accord uniteTo hymn in dulcet song their Saviour's praise,And as the chanting quire their voices raiseThey tread with shining feet the lilies bright.

Yea, e'en the spirits of the lost, that dwellWhere the black stream of sullen Acheron flows,Rest on that holy night when Christ arose,And for a while 'tis holiday in Hell.

No sun from ocean rising drives awayTheir darkness, with his flaming shafts far-hurled,But from the cross of Christ o'er that wan worldThere streams the radiance of a new-born day.

The sulphurous floods with lessened fury glow,The aching limbs find respite from their pain,While, in glad freedom from the galling chain,The tortured ghosts a short-lived solace know.

In holy gladness let this night be sped,As here we gather, Lord, to watch and pray;To Thee with one consent our vows we payAnd on Thy altar set the sacred Bread.

From pendent chains the lamps of crystal blaze;By fragrant oil sustained the clear flame glowsWith strength undimmed, and through the darkness throwsHigh o'er the fretted roof a golden haze,

As 'twere Heaven's starry floor our wondering eyeBeheld, wherein the Bears their light display,Where Phosphor heralds the approach of dayAnd Hesper's radiance floods the evening sky.

Meet is the gift we offer here to Thee,Father of all, as falls the dewy night;Thine own most precious gift we bring--the lightWhereby mankind Thy other bounties see.

Thou art the Light indeed; on our dull eyesAnd on our inmost souls Thy rays are poured;To Thee we light our lamps: receive them, Lord,Filled with the oil of peace and sacrifice.

O hear us, Father, through Thine only Son,Our Lord and Saviour, by Whose love bequeathedThe Paraclete upon our hearts has breathed,With Him and Thee through endless ages one.

Through Christ Thy Kingdom shall for ever be,Thy grace, might, wisdom, glory ever shine,As in the Triune majesty benignHe reigns for all eternity with Thee.