Sent from his Father's throne on high,
Still at his side in glory crowned,
The word of God went forth to die,
Shades of the evening closed him round.

Ere by his own false friend betrayed,
Given to his foes, to death went he,
His own true self, in form of bread,
He gave his friends, their life to be.

Twofold the gift his love did plan,
His flesh to feed, his blood to cheer,
That flesh and blood, the whole of man,
Might find its own fulfilment here.

The manger, Christ their equal made,
That upper room, their souls' repast,
The cross, their ransom dearly paid,
And heaven, their high reward at last.

Great victim, whose deserts avail,
The gate of heaven, so wide to throw
That sees what fears, what foes assail;
On trembling hearts your aid bestow.

To God, that blessed one in three,
Be praise and worship evermore
So may we pass eternity,
Poor exiles, on our native shore.