King of saints, to whom the number

Of thy starry host is known,

Many a name, by man forgotten,

Lives for ever round thy throne:

Lights, which earth-born mists have darkened,

There are shining full and clear,

Princes in the court of heaven,

Nameless, unremembered here.

In the roll of thine apostles

One there stands, Bartholomew,

He for whom today we offer,

Year by year, our praises due:

How he toiled for thee and suffered

None on earth can now record;

All his saintly life is hidden

In the knowledge of his Lord;

None can tell us: all is written

In the Lamb's great book of life,

All the faith, and prayer, and patience

All the toiling, and the strife:

There are told thy hidden treasures:

Number us, O Lord, with them,

When thou makest up the jewels

Of thy living diadem.

Amen.