Classic Poem

When the Patriarch was returning
Crown'd with triumph from the fray,
Him the peaceful king of Salem
Came to meet upon his way;
Meekly bearing Bread and Wine,
Holy Priesthood's awful sign!

On the truth thus dimly shadow'd,
Later days a lustre shed;
When the great High-Priest eternal,
Under forms of Wine and Bread,
For the world's immortal food,
Gave His Flesh and gave His Blood.

Wond'rous gift!—The Word who moulded
All things by His might divine,
Bread into His Body changes,
Into His own Blood the wine;—
What though sense no change perceives,
Faith admires, adores, believes!

He who once to die a Victim
On the Cross, did not refuse,
Day by day, upon our altars,
That same Sacrifice renews;
Through His holy Priesthood's hands,
Faithful to His last commands!

While the people all uniting
In the Sacrifice sublime,
Offer Christ to His high Father,
Offer up themselves with Him;
Then together with the Priest
On the living Victim feast!