O Lord of glo­ry! who couldst leave
The height su­preme in death to lie,
What tongue shall sing, what heart con­ceive,
The love di­vine that made Thee die?
Bought with a price, for ev­er Thine,
We break this bread, and drink this wine.

But here on earth, Thou wast alone
Proclaimer of this love to men;
Upon the cross, ’twas ful­ly known,
For God came forth to meet us then;
Rent from above, the part­ed veil,
Announced to all that won­drous tale.

But ris’n, the first­born from the dead,
Triumphant hast Thou en­tered in;
The glo­ri­ous Man, the liv­ing head,
Thrice wor­thy Thou our hearts to win:
In Thy blest face all glo­ries shine,
And there we gaze on love di­vine.