Stars of the Morning so gloriously bright,
Filled with celestial virtue and light;
These, that where night never followeth day,
Praise the Thrice-Holy for ever and ay :

These are thy ministers, these dost thou own,
Lord God of Sabaoth nearest thy throne;
These are thy messengers, these dost thou send,
Help of the helpless ones, man to defend.

"Who like the Lord?" thunders Michael the Chief;
Raphael, 'the cure of God', comforteth grief;
And as at Nazareth, prophet of peace,
Gabriel, 'the Light of God', bringeth release.

Then, when the earth was first poised in mid-space,
Then, when the planets first sped on their race,
Then, when was ended the six days' employ,
Then all the sons of God shouted for joy.

Still let them succour us, still let them fight,
Lord of angelic hosts, battling for right;
Till, where their anthems they ceaselessly pour,
We with the angels may bow and adore.

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