Hail, bo­dy true, of Ma­ry born,
And in the man­ger laid,
That once with thorn and scourg­ing torn
Wast on the cross dis­played,
That ev­ery eye might there des­cry
Th’up­lift­ed Sac­ri­fice,
Which once for all to God on high
Paid our re­demp­tion’s price!

Hail, pre­cious blood, by true des­cent
Drawn from our own first sire,
Yet in­no­cent of that fell taint
Which fills our veins with fire,
Once from the side of Him that died
For love of us His kin,
Drained an atone­ment to pro­vide
And wash away our sin!

Still Thou art here amidst us, Lord,
Unchangeably the same;
When at Thy board with one ac­cord
Thy pro­mis­es we claim;
But lo! the way Thou com’st to­day
Is one where bread and wine
Conceal the pre­sence they con­vey,
Both hu­man and di­vine.

How glo­ri­ous is that bo­dy now,
Throned on the throne of Heav’n!
The an­gels bow, and mar­vel how
To us on earth ’tis giv’n;
Oh, to dis­cern what splen­dors burn
Within these veils of His—
That faith could in­to vi­sion turn,
And see Him as He is!

How migh­ty is the blood that ran
For sin­ful na­ture’s needs!
It broke the ban, it res­cued man;
It lives, and speaks, and pleads;
And all who sup from this blest cup
In faith and hope and love,
Shall prove that death is swal­lowed up
In rich­er life above.