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18 Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame, Nor can the memory find, A sweeter sound than thy blest Name, O Saviour of mankind.

O Jesu, thou the beauty art Of angel worlds above; Thy Name is music to the heart, Enchanting it with love.

O hope of every contrite soul, O Joy of all the meek, How kind art thou to those who fall, How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? ah, this Nor tongue nor pen can shew: The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his lov'd ones know.

O Jesu, spotless Virgin flower, Our life, our joy, to thee Be praise, beatitude, and power Through all eternity.

 

in depths of woe, With racking anguish torn, Behold the Saviour of mankind Upon the tree of scorn. See how the nails those hands And feet so tender rend; See down his face and neck and breast His sacred blood descend. 