Our Lord Jesus at his own table
[The memory of our dying Lord
Awakes a thankful tongue:
How rich he spread his royal board,
And blessed the food, and sung!
Happy the men that eat this bread;
But doubly blest was he
That gently bowed his loving head,
And leaned it, Lord, on thee.
By faith the same delights we taste
As that great favorite did;
And sit and lean on Jesus' breast,
And take the heav'nly bread.]
Down from the palace of the skies,
Hither the King descends:
|Come, my beloved, eat,| he cries;
|And drink salvation, friends.
[|My flesh is food and physic too,
A balm for all your pains;
And the red streams of pardon flow
From these my pierced veins.|]
Hosannah to his bounteous love
For such a taste below!
And yet he feeds his saints above
With nobler blessings too.
[Come the dear day, the glorious hour,
That brings our souls to rest!
Then we shall need these types no more,
But dwell at th' heav'nly feast.]