Hic praepotens cruenti
  extinctor antichristi,
  qui de furente monstro
  pulchrum refert tropaeum.

    Quam bestiam capacem 105
  populosque devorantem,
  quam sanguinis charybdem
  Ioannis execratur.

    Haec nempe, quae sacratum
  praeferre nomen ausa est, 110
  imam petit gehennam
  Christo perempta vero.

    Tali sopore iustus
  mentem relaxat heros,
  ut spiritu sagaci 115
  caelum peragret omne.

    Nos nil meremur horum,
  quos creber inplet error,
  concreta quos malarum
  vitiat cupido rerum. 120

    Sat est quiete dulci
  fessum fovere corpus: 
  sat, si nihil sinistrum
  vanae minentur umbrae.

    Cultor Dei memento 125
  te fontis et lavacri
  rorem subisse sanctum,
  te chrismate innotatum.

    Fac, cum vocante somno
  castum petis cubile, 130
  frontem locumque cordis
  crucis figura signet.

    Crux pellit omne crimen,
  fugiunt crucem tenebrae: 
  tali dicata signo 135
  mens fluctuare nescit.

    Procul, o procul vagantum
  portenta somniorum,
  procul esto pervicaci
  praestigiator astu! 140

    O tortuose serpens,
  qui mille per Maeandros
  fraudesque flexuosas
  agitas quieta corda,

    Discede, Christus hic est, 145
  hic Christus est, liquesce: 
  signum quod ipse nosti
  damnat tuam catervam.

    Corpus licet fatiscens
  iaceat recline paullum, 150
  Christum tamen sub ipso
  meditabimur sopore.

VI.  Hymn before sleep

  Draw near, Almighty Father,
    Ne’er seen by mortal eye;
  Come, O Thou Word eternal,
    O Spirit blest, be nigh.

  One light of threefold Godhead,
    One power that all transcends;
  God is of God begotten,
    And God from both descends.

  The hour of rest approaches,
    The toils of day are past,
  And o’er our tired bodies
    Sleep’s gentle charm is cast.

  The mind, by cares tormented
    Amid life’s storm and stress,
  Drinks deep the wondrous potion
    That brings forgetfulness.

  O’er weary, toil-worn mortals
    The spells of Lethe steal;
  Sad hearts lose all their sorrow,
    Nor pain nor anguish feel.

  For to His frail creation
    God gave this law to keep,
  That labour should be lightened
    By soft and healing sleep.

  But while sweet languor wanders
    Through all the pulsing veins,
  And, wrapt in dewy slumber,
    The heart at rest remains,

  The soul, in wakeful vigour,
    Aloft in freedom flies,
  And sees in many a semblance
    The hidden mysteries.

  For, freed from care, the spirit
    That came from out the sky,
  Born of the stainless aether,
    Can never idle lie.