Meseems the Church is as her Heavenly Spouse;
No past and future in her time may be;
The tender smile of her first infancy
Still, after many ages, lights her brows.
Come, pilgrims, hasten to the holy house,
And bend and praise. Before the earth-set throne,
A lowly Mother seals her travail-vows,
Nor renders thanks and offers gifts alone;
For, round her thanks are thankful voices ringing,
The thankful voices of the first Nowell,
And aye her soul is ‘Nunc dimittis’ singing,
Because her eyes have seen Immanuel;
The Mother purified, who stain has none,
Offering in earthly shrine the Eternal Son.