Bride of Christ, whose glo­ri­ous war­fare
Here on earth hath ne­ver rest;
Lift thy voice, and tell the tri­umphs
Of the ho­ly and the blest;
Joyous be the day we hal­low,
Feast of all the saints on high,
Earth and Heav’n to­ge­ther blend­ing
In one so­lemn har­mo­ny.

First the bless­èd vir­gin mo­ther,
Reunited to her Son,
Leads the host of ran­somed people,
Who un­fad­ing crowns have won;
John, the her­ald, Christ’s fore­run­ner,
More than pro­phet, leads his throng,
Seer and pa­tri­arch re­spon­sive
Unto psalm­ist in their song.

Lo, the twelve, ma­es­tic princ­es,
In the court of Je­sus sit,
Calmly watch­ing, while the con­flict
Rages far be­neath their feet;
Lo, the mar­tyrs, robed in crim­son,
Sign of life blood free­ly spent,
Finding life, be­cause they lost it,
Dwell in un­dis­turb­ed content.

All the saint­ly host who wit­nessed
Good con­fess­ions for His sake—
Priest and dea­con, world re­nounc­ing,
Of their Mas­ter’s joy par­take;
Virgins to the Lamb de­vot­ed,
Following with stead­fast love,
Bring their li­lies and their ros­es
To the mar­riage feast above.

All, their hap­py lot ful­fill­ing,
God om­ni­po­tent pro­claim;
Holy, ho­ly, ho­ly, cry­ing,
Glory to His ho­ly name!
So may God in mer­cy grant us
Here to serve in ho­li­ness,
Till He call us to the por­tion
Which His saints in light pos­sess.