Stupete, gentes, fit Deus hostia

Ye wondering nations, see
The Ruler of the skies,
Oh, most amazing mystery,
His people's Sacrifice.

The Law's own Lord obeys
The ordinance he gave;
A price is paid for him who pays
A price the world to save.

And she, the spotless Maid,
Performs the stern command;
The Shrine of God — and yet, afraid
Within his courts to stand.

An aged saint appears
His humble gift to bring,
And gives his few remaining years
To join the offering.

O Maid, what anguish fierce
Remaineth yet for thee,
Whose tender heart the sword shall pierce,
Beside the dreadful tree —

Where thou, whose Infant cries
Foretell thy future woe,
Shalt die, the perfect Sacrifice,
Redeeming all below.

Then, let us love thee well,
And praise thee evermore;
Let all the Father's praises tell;
The Holy Ghost adore.