Holy Monday

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle:
Sing the ending of the fray.
Now above the Cross, the trophy,
Sound the loud triumphant lay;
Tell how Christ, the world's redeemer,
As a victim won the day.

Tell how, when at length the fullness
Of the appointed time was come,
He, the Word was born of woman,
Left for us His Father's home,
Blazed the path of true obedience,
Shone as light amidst the gloom.

Thus, with thirty years accomplished
He went forth from Nazareth,
Destined, dedicated, willing,
Did His work and met His death;
Like a lamb He humbly yielded
On the Cross His dying breath.

Faithful cross, true sign of triumph,
Be for all the noblest tree;
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thine equal be;
Symbol of the world's redemption,
For the weight that hung on thee.

Unto God be praise and glory,
To the Father and the Son,
To the eternal Spirit honor
Now and evermore be done;
Praise and glory in the highest
While the timeless ages run.

LSB 454 (by Venantius Honorius Fortunatus, c. 530-609)