For all Thy saints, a no­ble throng,
Who fell by fire and sword,
Who soon were called, or wait­ed long,
We praise Thy name, O Lord!

For him who left his fa­ther’s side,
Nor lin­gered by the shore,
When, soft­er than the wel­ter­ing tide,
Thy sum­mons glid­ed o’er.

Who stood be­side the maid­en dead,
Who climbed the mount with Thee,
And saw the glo­ry round Thy head,
One of Thy chos­en three.

Who knelt be­neath the ol­ive shade,
Who drank Thy cup of pain,
And passed from Herod’s flash­ing blade
To see Thy face again.

Lord, give us grace, and give us love,
Like him to leave be­hind
Earth’s cares and joys, and look above
With true and ear­nest mind.

So shall we learn to drink Thy cup,
So meek and firm be found,
When Thou shalt come to take us up
Where Thine elect are crowned.