CXLVI THE ASCENSION

Lift up your heads, great Gates, and sing,

Now Glory comes, and Glory's King;

Now by your high all-golden way

The fairer Heaven comes home to-day.

Hark! now the Gates are ope, and hear

The tune of each triumphant sphere;

Where every Angel as he sings

Keeps time with his applauding wings,

And makes Heaven's loftiest roof rebound

The echoes of the noble sound.