The Word descending from above,
Yet leaving not the Father's side
And going to his work of love,
At length had reached life 's eventide.

But ere the traitor's hand hath led
The envious Jews that plot his death.
Himself the Lord as living bread
Unto the twelve delivereth.

To them, beneath a two-fold veil,
He gave his flesh and precious blood,
Our two-fold substance to regale,
With that divine and typic food.

He was our fellow man in birth;
Our food, when at the board he sate
He died, the ransom of the earth,
He reigns, our guerdon wondrous great.