Infinite ex­cel­lence Is Thine
Thou love­ly Prince of grace!
Thy un­cre­at­ed beau­ties shine
With nev­er-fad­ing rays.

Sinners from earth’s re­mot­est end
Come bend­ing at Thy feet;
To Thee their pray­ers and vows as­cend;
In Thee their wish­es meet.

Thy name as pre­cious oint­ment shed,
Delights the Church around;
Sweetly the sac­red odor spreads
Through all Im­ma­nu­el’s ground.

Millions of hap­py spir­its live
On Thy ex­haust­less store;
From Thee they all their bliss re­ceive,
And still Thou giv­est more.

Thou are their tri­umph and their joy,
They find their all in Thee;
Thy glo­ries will their tongues em­ploy
To all eter­ni­ty.