Christ, our Lord, our loving Saviour,
Thou thyself our light and day,
Grant to us a pure intention
That on this our feast we may
With thy saints in joy abounding
Praise thy name in tuneful lay.
He who fled from fame and rumour
That alone thy name should be
Solely his delight and pleasure
As thy service made him free,
Knew in thee what grace can merit
Losing self to live in thee.
As the prophet in the desert
Nurtured by the ravens' fare,
Of the brooklet's water drinking
Great Elias' worthy heir,
Giles the hermit in the forest
Lived to own his Father's care.
How the hunted hound had sought him
Finding refuge at his gate,
Made the king to marvel nobly
At the hermit's holy state.
Triune God, to thee for ever
Speed the souls who fly death's fate.
Giles, our saint, assist our worship,
Pray for us that we may sing.
Always in this house to honour
Him, the Lord of Life, the King.
Christ who healed the crippled beggar
Limping praises heavenward wing.
We usually add the last verse of ‘Christ is made the sure Foundation’.