Tú no me pro-te - ges, Sin Tí que seré yo,

What Mortal Tongue.

1. What mor-tal tongue can sing thy praise, Dear

Mother of the Lord! To angels on - ly

it

be-longs Thy glory to

re

नै

cord. Who born of man, can pen-e-trate Thy

soul's ma-jestic shrine? Who can thy mighty

gifts un

fold, Or right-ly them di- vine?

2 Say, Virgin, what sweet force was that

Which from the Father's breast,

Drew forth His co-eternal Son,

To be thy bosom's guest?

6

,Twas not thy guileless faith alone
That lifted thee so high;
'Twas not thy pure seraphic love,
Or peerless chastity.

3 But oh, it was thy lowliness,
Well pleasing to the Lord,
That made thee worthy to become
The Mother of the Word.
Praise to the Father with the Son,
And Holy Ghost, thro' Whom
The Word eternal was conceived,
Within the Virgin's womb.

Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee.

1. Je

sus, the very thought of Thee With

Dolce.

sweetness fills my breast; But sweeter far Thy

face to see, And in Thy presence rest. Nor

voice can sing, nor heart can frame,Nor can the mem❜ry

Thy blest name, O Saviour of man-kind.

3 O Hope of every contrite heart,.

O joy of all the meek;

To those that fall how kind Thou art,
How good to those that seek.

4 But what to those that find? Ah! this
Nor tongue nor pen can show:
The love of Jesus, what it is
None but His loved ones know.

5 Jesus, our only joy be Thou.
As Thou our prize wilt be,
Jesus, be Thou our glory now,
Our hope, our victory.

breathe our lov-ing vows The while we link thy

name with theirs, Thy Foster-Son and spouse. O