How dazzling fair art thou, my Life, my Light! How comely is thy countenance, how bright! Sun uncreate, how keen is the enjoyment That Saints and Angels find in thine employment! In view thereof sing I, by day and night, How dazzling fair art thou, my Life my Light! My soul, O Lord, is sore athirst for thee: My heart doth yearn thy seemly face to see: Dim is my sight; but one ray of thy kindness Should quickly skill to cure mine eyes of blindness: Mean while my song and my complaint shall be, “My soul, O Lord, is sore a thirst for thee.” When shall I come to hear that Angel song? Nay, swell the chorus of the heav'nly throng? Then join the noble company of Sages, Who chaunt thee Lauds through everlasting ages? Now ev'ry day me thinks and all day long, “When shall I come to hear that Angel song?” Amen.
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