O Zion, op­en wide thy gates,
Let sym­bols dis­ap­pear;
A priest and vic­tim, both in one,
The truth Him­self, is here.

No more the sim­ple flock shall bleed;
Behold, the Fa­ther’s Son
Himself to His own al­tar comes
For sin­ners to atone.

Aware of hid­den de­ity,
The low­ly vir­gin brings
Her new­born babe, with two young doves,
Her humble of­fer­ings.

The ag­èd Si­me­on sees at last
His Lord, so long de­sired,
And An­na wel­comes Is­ra­el’s hope,
With ho­ly rap­ture fired.

But si­lent knelt the mo­ther blest
Of the yet si­lent Word,
And pon­der­ing all things in her heart,
With speech­less praise ad­ored.

All glo­ry to the Fa­ther be,
All glo­ry to the Son,
All glo­ry, Ho­ly Ghost, to Thee,
While end­less ag­es run.