Now My Tongue The Mystery

Now, My Tongue, The Mystery Telling
Of The Glorious Body Sing,
And The Blood, All Price Excelling,
Which The Gentiles’ Lord And King,
In A Virgin’s Womb Once Dwelling,
Shed For This World’s Ransoming.

Given For Us, For Us Descending
Of A Virgin To Proceed,
He, With Us In Converse Blending,
Scattered Here The Gospel Seed,
Till His Sojourn Drew To Ending,
Which He Closed With Wondrous Deed.

At The Last Great Supper Lying,
Circled By His Chosen Hand,
Meekly With The Law Complying,
First He Finished Its Command.
Then, Immortal Food Supplying,
Gave Himself With His Own Hand.

Word Made Flesh, By Word He Made
Very Bread His Flesh To Be;
We In Wine, Christ’s Blood Partaken,
And If Senses Fail To See,
Faith Alone The True Heart Taken,
To Behold The Mystery.

Therefore We, Before Him Bending,
This Great Sacrament Revere:
Types And Shadows Have Their Ending,
For The Newer Rite Is Here;
Faith, Our Outward Sense Befriending,
Makes Our Inward Vision Clear.

Glory Let Us Give And Blessing
To The Father And The Son,
Honour, Might And Praise Addressing,
While Eternal Ages Run;
Ever Too His Love Confessing,
Who, From Both, With Both Is One. Amen.



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