Pale-sick moons no more are waning, stars bespangle not the night,
God is now that City's sunshine, and the Lamb its living light;
Eve and morn divide no longer, noons dispense a deepening ray,
For each Saint is now in glory, shining to the perfect day:
Crown'd they shout their Jubilates, joyous now the fight is done,
Safely, now the foe is prostrate, boast them how the field was won.
Purified of inwrought leaven, warring sin they know no more,
Spirit now is flesh, and spirit what was only flesh before;
Peace, intensest peace, enjoying, stumbling ways no more to scan,
Changed from every shift of changing, mount they where their life began;
Present, not through glasses darkly, see the Glory, face to face,
Lift their pitchers to the fountain welling with eternal grace.
Bathed anew in heavenly lavers, hence they keep their first estate,
Vivid, jocund, brightly sitting o'er the water-floods of fate.
Sickness comes not to the healthy, lovely youth fears no decay,
Hence they grasp eternal essence, for to pass hath pass'd away;
Thus, decay itself declining, in celestial vigour rife,
Mortal with immortal blending, death they swallow up in life.
Knowing Him who knoweth all things, what to them shall not be known?
Heart to heart unbars its secrets lock'd within the fleshly zone,
One thing choosing, one refusing, one way all their currents fall;
Divers though the crowns of glory, meted at the Judgment Throne,
What she loves in others' brightness, charity hath made her own,
So the gifts of one excelling are the common joy of all.
