Praise to the Heavenly Wisdom Who knows the hearts of all— The saintly life’s beginnings, The traitor’s secret fall; Our own ascended Master, Who heard His Church’s cry, Made known His guiding presence, And ruled her from on high.
Elect in His foreknowledge, To fill the lost one’s place; He formed His chosen vessel By hidden gifts of grace; Then, by the lot’s disposing, He lifted up the poor, And set him with the princes On high for evermore.
For on the golden breastplate Of our great Priest above, Twelve are the stones that glisten And throbs that Heart of Love; And twelve the fair foundations Of Salem’s jasper wall; And twelve the thrones predestined Within her judgment hall.
No mystic gem is lacking In that divine array; No empty throne shall darken The glory of that day; For lo! on twelve the Spirit, The Father’s Promise, came; And twelve went forth together To preach the saving Name.
Still guide Thy Church, Chief Shepherd, Her losses still renew; Be Thy dread keys entrusted To faithful hands and true; Apostles of Thy choosing May all her rulers be, That each with joy may render His last account to Thee!