<p><a href="https://gregobase.selapa.net/chant.php?id=2926">Link to Music</a></p><ol><li>Round roll the weeks our hearts to greet, With blissful joy returning; For lo! The Holy Paraclete On twelve bright brows sits burning:</li><li>With quivering flame He lights on each, In fashion like a tongue, to teach That eloquent they are of speech, Their hearts with true love yearning.</li><li>While with all tongues they speak to all, The nations deem them maddened, And drunk with wine the Prophets call, Whom God’s good Spirit gladdened;</li><li>A marvel this—in mystery done— The holy Paschaltide outrun, By numbers told, whose reckoning won Remission for the saddened.</li><li>O God most Holy, Thee we pray, With reverent brow low bending, Grant us the Spirit’s gifts to-day— The gifts from heaven descending;</li><li>And, since, Thy grace hath deigned to bide Within our breasts once sanctified, Deign, Lord, to cast our sins aside, Henceforth calm seasons sending.</li><li>To God the Father, laud and praise, Praise to the Son be given; Praise to the Spirit of all grace, The fount of graces seven—</li><li>As was of old, all worlds before, Is now and shall be evermore, When time and change are spent and o’er— All praise in earth and heaven.</li></ol>

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