Sing, My Tongue, The Saviour's Glory Poem by Thomas Aquinas

Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory,
Of His cross the mystery sing;
Lift on high the wondrous trophy,
Tell the triumph of the King:
He, the world's Redeemer, conquers
Death, through death now vanquishing.

Born for us, and for us given;
Son of man, like us below,
He, as Man with men, abiding
Dwells, the seed of life to sow:
He, our heavy griefs partaking,
Thus fulfils His life of woe.

Word made flesh! His word life-giving,
Gives His flesh our meat to be,
Bids us drink His blood, believing,
Through His death, we life shall see:
Blessed they who thus receiving
Are from death and sin set free.

Low in adoration bending,
Now our hearts our God revere;
Faith, her aid to sight is lending,
Though unseen the Lord is near;
Ancient types and shadows ending,
Christ our paschal Lamb is here.

Praise for ever, thanks and blessing,
Thine, O gracious Father, be:
Praise be Thine, O Christ, who bringeth
Life and immortality.
Praise be Thine, Thou quickening Spirit,
Praise through all eternity.