Hymns from the East: Being Centos and Suggestions from the Office Books of the Holy Eastern ChurchBrownlie, John
Religion
Hymns from the East: Being Centos and Suggestions from the Office Books of the Holy Eastern Church
Brownlie, John
Hymns, Greek -- Translations into English; Orthodox Eastern Church -- Hymns
Out from the rising of the sun,
O'er tracts of desert wild,
The Magi came on journey lone,
To seek the heaven-born child;
The star o'erhead their footsteps led,
And hope their way beguiled.
II
They bore Him costly gifts of gold,
And myrrh and spices sweet:
"For He is King," they had been told,
Whom they would meekly greet;
And they would go, in reverence low,
And worship at His feet.
III
O humble Child, in manger laid!
The wise beheld Thee there,
And reverently their homage paid,
And gave their offerings rare.
Their quest was found, and to the ground
They bowed the head in prayer.
IV
O Jesu, who in manger lay,
The Son of God most high,
Let me my humble homage pay,
And bring my offerings nigh,
And humbly greet Thee at Thy feet,
And low in worship lie.
EASTER
I
O woeful hour! when from the night
Emerged in wrath Satanic might,
To crush the Christ, whom God in heaven,
To raise our fallen race, had given.
II
O woeful hour! when, with the scorn
Of sinful men, His soul was torn;
When sin exulting bowed the knee,
And stung the Christ with mockery.
III
O woeful hour! when to the tree
The Christ was nailed in agony;
When anguish for our sin He bore,
And thorns His throbbing temples tore.
IV
O woeful hour! O darkest day!
The God-Man, still, entombed lay,
For death his cruel shaft had driven
To quell the hope our God had given.
V
O saddened soul! the night is past,
The morn, bright morn, has come at last;
The rage of sin its worst hath done,
Yet lives in power th' eternal Son.
VI
The dark hath vanished in the light;
O futile now, Satanic might;
Sin wounded lies, and death is slain
By Him who lives in power again.
VII
Hail, glorious morn! the Christ hath risen;
Hail Victor from the darkest prison!
Up, up, my soul! thy praises pour
To Christ, Thy God, for evermore.
I
Crown the Lord of glory,
Angels, crown your King;
Saints whose souls He ransomed,
Bring your offering;
Let no voice be silent,
Laud and honour bring.
II
Crown the Lord of glory,--
Once He dwelt below,
Bore the cross of sorrow,
Drank the cup of woe;
Now He reigns triumphant,
Let your praises flow.
III
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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