O Thou who first didst speak the light to flame,
And from Thy boundless heart the heavens came,
The rose’s blush, the star’s unyielding gleam,
The ocean’s song, the mountain’s silent dream—
All beauty flows from Thee, the Fountain pure,
And Thou art Beauty Itself, forever sure.

In Eden’s dawn, when earth was yet untrod,
Thy finger traced the lily and the sod;
Each dewdrop held Thy splendor, each bird’s wing
A hymn to glory that the angels sing.
Yet not in creatures doth Thy essence dwell—
They mirror but the light in which we fell.

Behold the Son, the Word made flesh divine,
In whom the Father’s glory fully shine!
The fairest of ten thousand, robed in grace,
Whose countenance outshines the noonday blaze.
He is the Archetype, the perfect Form,
The living Beauty that no storm can harm.

When thorns did crown His brow, and nails did pierce,
True Beauty suffered—yet grew never less;
For love’s deep wound revealed the hidden fire,
The splendor veiled in blood and dark desire.
Transfigured now in resurrection’s morn,
He reigns as Light where endless day is born.

O Christ, Thou Beauty self and Beauty’s Giver,
Draw us to Thee, our soul’s eternal River.
Let every eye that seeks the good and true
Find in Thy face the vision ever new.
For he who wrought all beauty for our sight
Is Beauty Infinite—eternal Light, O Christ our delight.