1 Father, we wait to feel thy grace,
To see thy glories shine;
The Lord will his own table bless,
And make the feast divine.
2 We touch, we taste the heavenly bread,
We drink the sacred Cup;
With outward forms our sense is fed,
Our souls rejoice in hope.
3 We shall appear before the throne
Of our forgiving God,
Dress'd in the garments of his Son,
And sprinkled with his blood.
4 We shall be strong to run the race,
And climb the upper sky;
Christ will provide our souls with grace,
He bought a large supply.
5 [Let us indulge a cheerful frame,
For joy becomes a feast;
We love the memory of his Name,
More than the wine we taste.]