683. C. M. Dale. Christ Blessing the Bread.

1 Behold, amid his little flock,
The Saviour stands serene,
Unawed by suffering yet to be,
Unchanged by what hath been.

2 Still beams the light of love undimmed
In that benignant eye,
Nor, save his own prophetic word,
Aught speaks him soon to die.

3 He pours within the votive cup
The rich blood of the vine,
And |Drink ye all the hallowed draught,|
He cries, |This blood is mine.|

4 He breaks the bread; then clasps his hands,
And lifts his eyes in prayer,
Receive ye this and view by faith
My body symbolled there.