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Eucharistic Group - Sing, my tongue


Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
Of His Flesh the mystery sing;
Of the Blood,
all price exceeding,

Destin'd for the world's redemption,
Shed by our immortal King,
From a noble womb to spring.
Of a pure and spotless Virgin

Born for us on earth below,
Stay'd, the seeds of truth to sow;
He, as Man with man conversing, Then He clos'd in solemn order
Wondrously his life of woe.

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 all His brethren
Gives Himself with His own hand.
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.

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.

To the everlasting Father, And the Son who reigns on high, With the Holy Spirit proceeding
Forth from each eternally,
Be salvation, honour, blessing,
Might, and endless majesty.