Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory, * Of His Flesh the mystery sing; * Of His Blood all price exceeding, * Shed by our immortal King, * Destined for the world's redemption * From a noble womb to spring.
Of a pure and spotless Virgin, * Born for us on earth below, * He, as Man with man conversing, * Stayed the seeds of truth to sow. * Then He closed in solemn order * Wondrously His life of woe.
On the night of that last supper, * Seated with His chosen band, * He the paschal victim eating, * First fulfills the Law's command; * Then as food to all His brethren * Gives Himself with His own Hand.
Word made Flesh, the bread of nature * By His word to Flesh He turns; * Wine into His Blood He changes: * What though sense no change discerns, * Only be the heart in earnest, * Faith her lesson quickly learns.
Down in adoration falling, * Lo, the sacred Host we hail, * Lo, o'er ancient forms departing * Newer rites of grace prevail: * Faith for all defects supplying, * Where the feeble senses fail.
To the everlasting Father * And the Son Who reigns on high * With the Holy Ghost proceeding * Forth from each eternally, * Be salvation, honor, blessing, * Might and endless majesty. Amen.