The golden star of morn Is climbing in the sky; The birthday of Venantius Awakes the Church to joy. His native land in depths Of pagan darkness lay; He o'er her guilty regions poured The light of heavenly day. Her in baptismal streams Of grace he purified; E'en those who came to take his life, With him as Martyrs died. With the Angels now he shares Those joys which never cease; Look down on us, O Spirit blest, And send us gifts of peace. Praise to the Father, Son, And, Holy Ghost, to Thee, Oh, grant us through Thy Martyr's prayer A blest eternity.