Hail Gabriel, hail; a thousand hails
For thine whose music still prevails
To charm the list’ning ear;
Angelic word, sent forth to tell
How He the Eternal Word should dwell
Amid His creatures here.

Heaven’s voice of sweetness, uttered low,
Thy words like strains of music grow
Upon the stilly night;
Clear echoes from the mind of God,
That steal through Mary’s blest abode
In pulses of delight.

O voice, dear voice, the ages hear
That hail of thine still ling’ring near,
An unexhausted song;
And still thou com’st with balmy wing,
And still thou sweetly seem’st to sing,
Thine Ave to prolong.

Take up in Heaven for us thy part,
And singing to the Sacred Heart
Thy strains of rapture raise;
And tune with endless Ave still
The voices of the Blest, and fill
The ear of God with praise.

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