Yee night, and darknes, cloudie aire,
Confusion, tempest; hence away:
(Light now appeares, the skie growes faire,
Christ is at hand;) be gone, I say.

Now earth's black mantle's cut atwaine,
Smitten with dart of Suns bright ray:
Each thing receives its hue againe,
Through smiling visage of the day.

Thee, Christ, we vouch to know alone;
To thee with pure and plaine intent;
With sighes and tears we make our moan,
To our desires give thou assent.

How many thinges false-coloured are,
Which with thy light would cleered be?
Thou art the light of Easterne star;
Lighten us with thy count'nance free.