# Passiontide's own Matins hymn ("Pange, lingua, gloriósi prœ́lium
# certáminis" — the Passiontide recension of Venantius Fortunatus' hymn,
# distinct from Lent's own "Ex more docti mýstico" used up to this point).
# Live-verified against both Passion Sunday itself (2026-03-22) and a
# plain Passiontide feria (2026-03-24, a Tuesday) — byte-identical, so
# this season doesn't vary its Matins hymn by weekday. This particular
# breviary recension is 5 stanzas, ending after the Incarnation/manger
# stanza — it does not continue into the "Lustra sex qui iam peracta..."
# stanzas some other uses of this hymn carry. Self-contained with its own
# closing doxology stanza baked in (a fixed, unique ending, "Glória, et
# honor Deo..." — not the shared weekday doxology).
id: matins-hymn-passiontide
text:
  la: >-
    Pange, lingua, gloriósi

    Prœlium certáminis,

    Et super Crucis trophǽo

    Dic triúmphum nóbilem,

    Quáliter Redémptor orbis

    Immolátus vícerit.


    De paréntis protoplásti

    Fraude Factor cóndolens,

    Quando pomi noxiális

    Morsu in mortem córruit,

    Ipse lignum tunc notávit,

    Damna ligni ut sólveret.


    Hoc opus nostræ salútis

    Ordo depopóscerat,

    Multifórmis proditóris

    Ars ut artem fálleret,

    Et medélam ferret inde,

    Hostis unde lǽserat.


    Quando venit ergo sacri

    Plenitúdo témporis,

    Missus est ab arce Patris

    Natus, orbis Cónditor,

    Atque ventre virgináli

    Carne amíctus pródiit.


    Vagit infans inter arcta

    Cónditus præsépia:

    Membra pannis involúta

    Virgo Mater álligat:

    Et manus, pedésque, et crura

    Stricta cingit fáscia.


    Glória, et honor Deo

    Usqueqáque Altíssimo,

    Una Patri, Filióque;

    Inclyto Paráclito:

    Cui laus est et potéstas,

    Per ætérna sǽcula. Amen.
  en: >-
    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.


    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.
status:
  la: verified
  en: verified