Vexilla Regis prodeunt;
fulget Crucis mysterium,
quo carne carnis conditor
suspensus est patibulo.
Confixa clavis viscera
tendens manus, vestigia,
redemptionis gratia
hic immolata est hostia.
Quo vulneratus insuper
mucrone diro lanceae,
ut nos lavaret crimine,
manavit unda et sanguine.
Impleta sunt quae concinit
David fideli carmine,
dicendo nationibus:
regnavit a ligno Deus.
Arbor decora et fulgida,
ornata Regis purpura,
electa digno stipite
tam sancta membra tangere.
Beata, cuius brachiis
pretium pependit saeculi:
statera facta corporis,
praedam tulitque tartari.
Fundis aroma cortice,
vincis sapore nectare,
iucunda fructu fertili
plaudis triumpho nobili.
Salve, ara, salve, victima,
de passionis gloria,
qua vita mortem pertulit
et morte vitam reddidit.
O Crux ave, spes unica,
hoc Passionis tempore!
piis adauge gratiam,
reisque dele crimina.
Te, fons salutis Trinitas,
collaudet omnis spiritus:
quibus crucis victoriam
largiris adde praemium.
Available sung texts: (what is this?)
• G. Dyson • G. Wert F. Liszt sets stanzas 1, 4, 9
G. Wert sets stanza 9
G. Dyson sets stanza 1
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Researcher for this page: Guy Laffaille
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2011-03-11
Line count: 40
Word count: 136
The King's standards advance,
The mystery of the Cross blazes out
On which, flesh for our flesh, the Creator
Was hung for a gallows.
His body pierced by nails
He holds out his hands, the wounds,
Here is the victim sacrificed
For our redemption
Wounded further
By the fatal point of the lance
That he should wash us from our sin
His body was soaked in water and blood.
Completed are those things of which
David sang in his faithful song
In speaking to the nations:
God reigned from the wooden cross.
Oh tree beautiful and radiant
Decked with the King's purple
Chosen to be the worthy trunk
Which touched these sacred limbs.
Blessed tree, from whose branches
Hung the price of our age's salvation;
Made the cross-beam for his body
It bore the treasure of Tartarus.
You pour out a sweet scent from your bark
Your victory comes with the odour of nectar,
Rejoicing in your fertile fruit
You cheer in noble triumph
Hail altar, hail victim
For the glory of his suffering
By which life endured death
And gave back life in death.
O Cross, hail, our one hope
In thi time of the Passion.
Increase the grace of the pious
And remove the sins of the guilty.
Every spirit joins in praising
You, Trinity, source of salvation;
Grant this prize to those on whom
You bestow the victory of the Cross.
