Hung the great gift of God to men;
Whose price, of human life and breath,
Redeemed us from the thrall of death.
Thy bark exhales a perfume sweet
With which no nectar may compete;
And, joyful in thine ample fruit,
A noble triumph crowns thy root.
Hail, altar! and thou, Victim, hail!
Thy glorious passion shall not fail;
Whereby our life no death might lack,