SING, MY TONGUE, THE SAVIOUR'S GLORY

[1]
Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory,
of his flesh the mystery sing:
of the blood all price exceeding
shed by our immortal King,
destined for the world's redemption
from a noble womb to spring.

[2]
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.

[3]
On the night of that last supper,
seated with his chosen band,
he the Paschal victim eating,
first fulfils the law's command;
then, as food to his apostles,
gives himself with his own hand.

[4]
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.

[5]
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.

[6]
To the everlasting Father
and the Son who reigns on high,
with the Holy Ghost proceeding
forth from each eternally,
be salvation, honour, blessing,
might and endless majesty.