Sing, my tongue, of warfare ended
of the Victors laurelled crown;
Let the Cross, his trophy splendid,
Be the theme of high renown,
How a broken world was mended
Life restored by life laid down.

God, for man's rebellion grieving,
When the world his hands had made
Perished by a fruit's deceiving.
In that hour his counsel laid,
By a tree the race reprieving
Whom a tree long since betrayed.

Man's eternal health contriving
Wrought he with unfailing art-
Wisdom ‘gainst the wisdom striving
Of the tempter's guileful heart;
From that source the balm deriving
Where the foe had steeped his dart.

Therefore, when that hallowed hour
Time to its fulfilment brought,
From his Father's heav’nly tower
Came he, who the worlds had wrought,
From his Mother's secret bower,
Clothed in flesh, and welcome sought.

See a helpless Infant crying,
Whom a manger doth enfold;
See his Virgin Mother tying
Rags about him in the cold,
Bound both hand and feet, and lying
Mid the beasts, thy God behold!