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Hymns
St Ambrose of Milan, tr. Copeland, 1848
Chapter 2
Monday. At Matins.
Our limbs refresht with healthful rest,
Forth from our bed we spring;
Father, be nigh, behold from high,
And hearken, while we sing.
By every tongue Thou first be sung,
Each heart first mount to Thee;
So of each deed that shall succeed,
Thou, Lord, the Spring shalt be.
Let clouds take flight at dawning light,
And night at rising day,
And each dark thought the night hath brought
At morning melt away.
All things of ill cut off and kill,
Thy suppliants, Lord, implore,
So we who raise this hymn of praise,
May praise Thee evermore.
This, Father, grant to our sore want,
And Thou, Co-equal Son,
And Spirit Blest, with Both confest,
Eternal Three in One.