Rorate coeli de­sup­er!
Heavens, dis­til your bal­my show­ers;
For now is ris­en the bright Day­star,
From the rose Ma­ry, flow­er of flow­ers:
The clear Sun, whom no cloud de­vours,
Surmounting Phoe­bus in the east,
Is com­en of His heav’n­ly tow­ers,
Et no­bis pu­er na­tus est.

Sinners be glad, and pen­ance do,
And thank your mak­er heart­ful­ly;
For He that ye might not come to,
To you is com­en, fully hum­bly,
Your soul­ès with His blood to buy,
And loose you of the fiend’s ar­rest,
And on­ly of His own mer­cy;
Pro no­bis pu­er na­tus est.

Celestial fowl­ès in the air,
Sing with your not­ès upon the height,
In firth­ès and in for­ests fair
Be mirthf­ul now at all your might;
For pass­èd is your dul­ly night;
Aurora has the cloud­ès pierced,
The sun is ris­en with glad­some light,
Et no­bis pu­er na­tus est.

Sing, Hea­ven im­pe­ri­al, most of height,
Regions of air make har­mo­ny,
All fish in flood and fowl of flight,
Be mirthful and make me­lo­dy;
All Gloria in ex­cel­sis cry,
Heaven, earth, sea, man, bird and beast;
He that is crowned above the sky
Pro no­bis pu­er na­tus est.