Give me the wings of faith to rise within the veil, and see the saints above, how great their joys, how bright their glories be. Once they were mourning here below, their couch was wet with tears; they wrestled hard, as we do now, with sins and doubts and fears.

We ask them whence their victory came: they, with united breath, ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, their triumph to his death. They marked the footsteps that he trod, his zeal inspired their breast, and, following their incarnate God, possess the promised rest.

Our glorious Leader claims our praise for his own pattern given; while the long cloud of witnesses show the same path to heaven.