The appointed time is come

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle

Sing the last, the dread affray;

O'er the cross, the victor's trophy,

Sound the high triumphal lay:

Tell how Christ, the world's Redeemer,

As a victim won the day.

God, his Maker, sorely grieving

That the first-made Adam fell,

When he ate the fruit of sorrow,

Whose reward was death and hell,

Noted then this wood, the ruin

Of the ancient wood to quell.

For the work of our salvation

Needs would have his order so,

And the multiform deceiver's

Art by art would overthrow,

And from thence would bring the med'cine

Whence the insult of the foe.

Wherefore, when the sacred fullness

Of the appointed time was come,

This world's Maker left his Father,

Sent the heav'nly mansion from,

And proceeded, God Incarnate,

Of the Virgin's holy womb.

Weeps the infant in the manger

That in Bethlehem's stable stands;

And his limbs the Virgin Mother

Doth compose in swaddling bands,

Meetly thus in linen folding

Of her God the feet and hands.

Thirty years among us dwelling,

His appointed time fulfilled,

Born for this, he meets his passion,

For that this he freely willed:

On the cross the Lamb is lifted,

Where his life-blood shall be spilled.

He endured the nails, the spitting,

Vinegar, and spear, and reed;

From that holy body broken

Blood and water forth proceed:

Earth, and stars, and sky, and ocean,

By that flood from stain are free.

Faithful cross! above all other,

One and only noble tree!

None in foliage, none in blossom,

None in fruit thy peers may be;

Sweetest wood and sweetest iron!

Sweetest weight is hung on thee.

Bend thy boughs, O tree of glory!

Thy relaxing sinews bend;

For awhile the ancient rigour,

That thy birth bestowed, suspend;

And the King of heavenly beauty

On thy bosom gently tend!

Thou alone wast counted worthy

This world's ransom to uphold;

For a shipwrecked race preparing

Harbour, like the ark of old;

With the sacred blood anointed

From the smitten Lamb that rolled.

To the Trinity be glory

Everlasting, as is meet;

Equal to the Father, equal

To the Son, and Paraclete:

Trinal Unity, whose praises

All created things repeat.

Amen.

Should you wish to sing this, the music is as below, though the text is from the processional for Holy Thursday. This text is used in Matins and Lauds this week.