Sing, My Tongue, The Song Of Triumph

Sing, my tongue, the song of triumph,
tell the story far and wide.
Tell of dread and final battle,
sing of Savior crucified,
how, upon the cross a victim
vanquishing in death He died.

He endured the nails, the spitting,
vinegar and spear and reed.
From that holy body broken
blood and water forth proceed.
Earth and stars and sky and ocean
by that flood from stain are freed.

Faithful Cross, above all other,
one and only noble tree,
none in foliage, none in blossom,
none in fruit your peer may be;
sweet the wood and sweet the iron,
and your load, most sweet is He.

Bend your boughs, O tree of glory!
All your rigid branches bend!
For awhile the ancient temper
that your birth bestowed, suspend;
and the King of earth and heaven
gently on your bosom tend!

Unto God be praise and glory:
to the Father and the Son,
to the eternal Spirit honor
now and evermore be done;
praise and glory in the highest,
while unending ages run. Amen.

~Words: Venantius Fortunatus (530–600/609), translated by John Neale and Percy Dearmer & Tune: Sarum plainsong (Anonymous)