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Hymns
St Ambrose of Milan, tr. Copeland, 1848
Chapter 22
Thursday. At Matins.
Night shrouds beneath her sable vest
Earth’s every varied hue:
To Thee in all our dyes confest,
Heart-searching Judge, we sue,
That Thou would’st our black guilt efface,
Our soul’s foul stains disperse,
And grant us, Lord, Thy pardoning grace,
T’avert th’ impending curse.
The soul, sin’s hidden sting doth goad,
By palsied sloth opprest,
Yearns her dark burthen to unload,
And find in Thee her rest.
Oh, for Thou canst, her bonds untie,
Dispel her inward night;
So may she learn to bear Thine Eye,
And glory in Thy Light.
This grant us, Father ever kind,
And Thou, Co-equal Son,
And Holy Ghost, with Both enshrin’d,
Eternal Three in One.