Father of mercies infinite,
Ruling all things that be,
Who, shrouded in the depth and height,
Art One, and yet art Three;

Accept our chants, accept our tears,
A mingled stream we pour;
Such stream the laden bosom cheers,
To taste Thy sweetness more.

Purge Thou with fire the o'ercharged mind,
Its sores and wounds profound;
And with the watcher's girdle bind
The limbs which sloth has bound.

That they who with their chants by night
Before Thy presence come,
All may be fill'd with strength and light
From their eternal home.

Grant this, O Father, etc.