Classic Poem

[VIII]

 Bless earth with Thine Advent, O Saviour Christ!
And the golden gates which in days gone by
Full long stood locked, High Lord of heaven,
Bid Thou swing open and seek us out,
Humbly descending Thyself to earth.
 We have need of Thy mercy. The dark Death-Shadow,
The Accursed Wolf, has scattered Thy sheep
And widely dispersed them; what Thou, O Lord,
Bought with Thy blood, that doth the Wicked One
Take into bondage, and smiteth sore
Against our desire. O Saviour Lord,
In our inmost thoughts we eagerly beg:
Hasten to help us, miserable sinners,
That the Prince of torment may plunge to hell;
And Thy handiwork mount up on high,
Creator of men, and come to righteousness,
To the beauteous realms in the land above
From which the Dark Spirit led us astray,
Beguiled and seduced us through grievous sin
So that, shorn of glory, unto all ages
We must suffer affliction, except Thou first
O Living God, Eternal Lord,
Shield of all creatures, shall will to save us
Out of the clutch of the Foe of mankind.