Stars of the morning, so gloriously bright,

Filled with celestial splendor and light,

These that, where night never followeth day,

Raise the "Thrice Holy" song ever and aye:

These are thy ministers, these dost thou own,

God of Sabaoth, the nearest thy throne;

These are thy messengers, these dost thou send,

Help of the helpless ones! man to defend.

These keep the guard amid Salem's dear bowers,

Thrones, principalities, virtues, and powers,

Where, with the living ones, mystical Four,

Cherubim, seraphim bow and adore.

Still let them succor us; still let them fight,

Lord of angelic hosts, battling for right;

Till, where their anthems they ceaselessly pour,

We with the angels may bow and adore.

Amen.