Above the starry spheres,

To where He was before,

Christ had gone up, the Fathers gift

Upon the Church to pour.



At length had fully come,

On mystic circle borne

Of seven times seven revolving days,

The Pentecostal morn.



When, as the Apostles knelt

At the third hour in prayer,

A sudden rushing sound proclaimed

That God Himself was there.



Forthwith a tongue of fire

Is seen on every brow,

Each heart receives the Fathers light,

The Words enkindling glow.



The Holy Ghost on all

Is mightily outpoured,

Who straight in divers tongues declare

The wonders of the Lord.



While strangers of all climes

Flock round from far and near,

And their own tongue, wherever born,

All with amazement hear.



But Judah, faithless still,

Denies the hand divine;

And, mocking, jeers the saints of Christ

As full of new made wine.



Till Peter, in the midst,

By Joels ancient word,

Rebukes their unbelief, and wins

Three thousand to the Lord.



The Father and the Son

And Spirit we adore,

O may the Spirits gifts be poured

On us forevermore.