Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory, Of His flesh the mystery sing

Verse 1

Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory, Of his flesh the myst'ry sing; Of the blood, all price exceeding, Shed by our immortal King, Destined for the world's redemption, From a noble womb to spring.

Verse 2

Of a pure and spotless virgin Born for us on Earth below, He, as God with humans mingling, Stayed, the seeds of truth to sow, Then he closed in solemn order Wondrously his life of woe.

Verse 3

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 his apostles Gives himself with his own hand.

Verse 4

Now in adoration coming To 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.