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.