My God, and is Thy ta­ble spread,
And does Thy cup with love o’er­flow?
Thither be all Thy child­ren led,
And let them all its sweet­ness know.

Hail, sac­red feast, which Je­sus makes!
Rich ban­quet of His flesh and blood!
Thrice hap­py he, who here par­takes
That sac­red stream, that heav’n­ly food!

Why are its dain­ties all in vain
Before un­will­ing hearts dis­played?
Was not for you the Vic­tim slain?
Are you for­bid the child­ren’s bread?

O let Thy ta­ble hon­ored be,
And fur­nished well with joy­ful guests;
And may each soul sal­va­tion see,
That here its sac­red pledg­es tastes.

Let crowds ap­proach, with hearts pre­pared;
With hearts in­flamed let all at­tend;
Nor, when we leave our Fa­ther’s board,
The plea­sure, or the pro­fit end.

Revive thy dy­ing church­es, Lord,
And bid our droop­ing grac­es live;
And more that en­er­gy af­ford,
A Sav­ior’s blood alone can give.