Now, My Tongue

Now, my tongue, the myst'ry telling,
Of the glorious body sing,
And the blood, all price-excelling,
Which the Gentile's Lord and King
Once on earth among us dwelling
Shed for this world's ransoming.

Giv'n for us and condescending
To be born for us below,
He with us in converse blending
Dwelt, the seed of truth to sow,
Till He closed with wondrous ending
That most patient life of woe.

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, the bread He taketh,
By His Word His flesh to be;
Wine His sacred blood He maketh
Though the senses fail to see;
Faith alone the true heart waketh
To behold the mystery.

Glory let us give and blessing
To the Father and the Son,
Honor, thanks and praise addressing
While eternal ages run;
Ever too His love confessing
Who from both with both is One.
- St. Thomas Aquinas
LSB 630