St. Ambrose (d. 397)

Hymn for Sunday Lauds

     Eternal founder of the world, who rulest night and day and givest changes in due season to relieve our weariness,

     The herald of the day, ever watchful through the depth of night and as helpful as a light in the dark is to travellers, is sounding his call, marking off one night-watch from another.

     Let us therefore rise promptly.  The cock rouses those who are asleep, rebukes the drowsy, and denounces those who will not get up.

     When the cock crows hope returns, health is restored to the sick, the robber's sword is sheathed, and faith returns to backsliders.

     Look on us, Jesus, in our wavering, and correct us by a glance; for if thou lookest on us our sins leave us and our guilt is washed away in tears.

     Be thou a light, shine into our minds, and dispel sleep from our souls.  May the first act of our voices be to sing of thee, and so many we pay our vows to thee.

Hymn for Compline

Before the ending of the day, Creator of the world, we pray That Thou with wonted love wouldst keep Thy watch around us while we sleep.

     O let no evil dreams be near, Nor phantoms of the night appear;  Our ghostly enemy restrain, Lest aught of sin our bodies stain.

     Almighty Father, hear our cry, Through Jesus Christ our Lord most High, Who with the Holy Ghost and Thee, Doth live and reign eternally.

Prudentius (d. c. 405)

Verses from the Hymn for Every Hour

 Of the Father's love begotten, ere the worlds began to be, He is Alpha and Omega, He the source, the ending He, Of the things that are, that ahve been, and that future years shall see.

     He is found in human fashion, death and sorrow here to know, That the race of Adam's children, doomed by Law to endless woe, May not henceforth die and perish, in the dreadful gulf below.

     This is He whom seers in old time chanted of with one accord; Whom the voices of the Prophets promised in their faithful word; Now He shines, the long expected; let creation praise its Lord.



Venantius Fortunatus (d.c. 610)

Hymn on Christ's Passion

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle, Sing the last, the dread affray; O'er the Cross, the Victor's trophy, Sound the high triumphal lay, How, the pains of death enduring, Earth's Redeemer won the day.

He, our Maker, deeply grieving, That the first-made Adam fell, When he ate the fruit forbidden, Whose reward was death and hell, Mark'd e'en then this Tree the ruin of the first tree to dispel.

Faithful Cross, above all other, One and only noble Tree, None in foliage, none in blossom, None in fruit thy peer may be; Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron; Sweetest weight is hung on thee.

Bend, O lofty Tree, the branches, Thy too rigid sinews bend; And a while the stubborn hardness, Which they birth bestowed suspend; And the Limbs of Heav'n's high Monarch, Gently on thine arms extend.