|
A day, a day of glory
A day that
ends our woe
A day that tells of triumph
Against our
vanquished foe
Yield, summer's brightest sunrise
To this
December morn
Lift up your gates, ye princes
And let the
Child be born
With Gloria in excelsis
Archangels tell their mirth
With
Kyrie eleison
Men answer upon earth
And angels swell the
triumph
And mortals raise the horn
Lift up your gates, ye
princes
And let the Child be born.
He comes, His throne the manger
He comes, His shrine the
stall
The ox and ass His courtiers
Who made and governs all
The
"House of Bread" His birth-place
The Prince of wine and
corn
Lift up your gates, ye princes
And let the Child be born.
Then bar the gates, that henceforth
None thus may passage
win
Because the Prince of Israel
Alone hath enered in
The
earth, the sky, the ocean
His glorious way adorn
Lift up your
gates, ye princes
And let the Child be born.
|
Comments