A day, a day of glory!

A day that ends our woe!

A day that tells of triumph

Against our vanquish'd foe!

Yield, summer's brightest sunrise,

To this December morn:

Life up your gates, ye Princes

And let the Child be born!

With Gloria in excelsis

Archangels tell their mirth:

With Kyrie eleyson

Men answer upon the earth:

And angels swell the triumph,

And mortals raise the horn,

Life up you gates, ye Princes,

And let the Child be born.

He comes, His throne the manger;

He comes, His shrine the stall;

The ox and ass His courtiers,

Who made and governs all:

The "House of Bread" His birth place,

The Prince of wine and corn:

Lift up your gates, ye Princes,

And let the Child be born.

Then bar the gates, that henceforth

None thus may passage win,

Because the Prince of Israel

Alone hath entered in:

The earth, the sky, the ocean

His glorious way adorn:

Lift up your gates, ye Princes,

And let the Child be born