The King of Heav’n His table spreads,
And dainties crown the board;
Not paradise with all its joys
Could such delight afford.

Pardon and peace to dying men,
And endless life are giv’n,
And the rich blood, that Je­sus shed,
To raise the soul to Hea­ven.

Ye hungry poor, that long have strayed
In sin’s dark mazes, come:
Come from the hedges and highways
And grace shall find you room.

Millions of souls in glo­ry now,
Were fed, and feasted here;
And millions more, still on the way,
Around the board appear.

Yet is His house and heart so large,
That millions more may come;
Nor could the wide assembling world
O’er-fill the spacious room.

All things are rea­dy; come away,
Nor weak excuses frame;
Crowd to your places at the feast,
And bless the Founder’s name.