Now, My Tongue, the Mystery Telling

Now

my tongue

the mys­te­ry tell­ing

Of the glo­ri­ous body sing

And the blood

all price ex­cel­ling

Which all man­kind’s Lord and king

In a vir­gin’s womb once dwell­ing

Shed for this world’s ran­som­ing.

Given for us and con­des­cend­ing

To be born for us be­low

He

with men in con­verse blend­ing

Dwelt the seed of truth to sow

Till He closed with won­drous end­ing

His most pa­tient life be­low.

That last night

at sup­per ly­ing

’Mid the twelve

His chos­en band

Jesus

with the law com­ply­ing

Keeps the feast its rites de­mand;

Then

more pre­cious food sup­ply­ing

Gives Him­self with His own hand.

Word made flesh

true bread He mak­eth

By His word His flesh to be;

Wine His blood: which whoso tak­eth

Must from car­nal thoughts be free;

Faith alone

though sight for­sak­eth

Shows true hearts 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;

Honor

might and praise ad­dress­ing

While eter­nal ag­es run

Ever

too

His love con­fess­ing

Who from both with both is One.