Tell, my tongue, the glorious conflict

Tell, my tongue, the glorious conflict,
Crowned with victory nobly won;—
More than all the spoil of battle,
Praise the triumph of God's Son;
How by death the crown of conquest
Graced Him when the strife was done.

Grieving sore o'er Eden's sorrow
When our race in Adam fell;
And the fatal fruit he tasted,
Welcomed sin, and death, and hell;
God ordained a tree in Zion,
Eden's poison to dispel.

In the work of our Redemption
Wisdom met the tempter's foils;—
On the ground he claimed, the Victor
Fought, and bore away the spoils;
And the bane became the blessing,
Freedom sprang amid his toils.

From the bosom of the Father,
Where He shared the regal crown,
At the time by God appointed,
Came the world's Creator down—
God incarnate, born of Virgin,
Shorn of glory and renown.

List! the voice of infant weeping,
Cradled where the oxen stand,
And the Virgin mother watches,
Tending Him with loving hand,—
Hands and feet of God she bindeth,
Folding them in swaddling band.

Blessing, blessing everlasting,
To the glorious Trinity;
To the Father, Son, and Spirit,
Equal glory let there be;
Universal praise be given,
To the Blessed One in Three.