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Our Father's home eternal 
Our Father's home eternal, O Christ, thou dost prepare with many diverse mansions, and each one passing fair: they are the victor's guerdon who, through the hard-won fight, have followed in thy footsteps and reign with thee in light. 
Amid the happy number the virgins' crown and queen, the ever-Virgin Mother, is first and foremost seen: her one and only gladness, that undefilèd one, to gaze in adoration, the Mother, on the Son. 
There Adam leads the chorus, and tunes the joyous strain of all his myriad children that follow in thy train: victorious over sorrow, the countless band to see, destroyed through his transgression, but raised to life through thee. 
The patriarchs in their triumph thy praises nobly sing, of old their promised offspring, and now their Victor-King: the prophets harp their gladness that, whom their strains foretold, in manifested glory they evermore behold. 
And David calls to memory his own especial grace in such clear prophet-vision to see thee face to face: the apostolic cohort, thy valiant and thine own, as royal co-assessors are nearest to thy throne. 
Thy martyrs reign in glory who triumphed as they fell, and by a thousand tortures defeated death and hell; and every patient sufferer, who sorrow dared contemn, for each especial anguish hath one especial gem. 
The valiant-souled confessors put on their meet array, who bare the heat and burden 
of many a weary day: the scorners of life's pleasures, their self-denial ceased, sit down with thee and banquet at thy eternal feast. 
The virgins walk in beauty amidst their lily-bowers, the coronals assuming of never-ending flowers; and innocents sport gaily through all the courts of light, to whom thou gav'st the guerdon before they fought the fight. 
The soldiers of thine army, their earthly struggles o'er, with joy put off the armor that they shall need no more: for these, and all that battled beneath their Monarch's eyes, the harder was the conflict the brighter is the prize. 
The penitent, attaining full pardon in thy sight, leave off the vest of sackcloth and don the robe of white: the bondsman and the noble, the peasant and the king, all gird one glorious Monarch in one eternal ring.