IN spirit, Lord, we dwell with Thee, above
The changing scenes of time:
We rest beneath Thy canopy of love,
Within Thy house of wine.
And though, awhile the vale of death we
tread,
This weary world below, ―
Thy shepherd care doth still a table spread
In presence of the foe.
Oft as Thy day returns, we love to find
Thou dost the feast prepare.
We leave the din of conflict far behind,
That holy joy to share.
Thy precious death before our heart and
eyes, ―
We worship and adore:
This broken bread Thy pierced hand supplies,
This wine Thyself dost pour.
Lord Jesus, ‘tis Thy soul-subduing voice
That bids us take and eat:
The feast is spread, and we, Thy guests,
rejoice,
As in Thy house is meet.
“Eat, O my friends,” Thou sayest to us
here―
“Yea, drink, beloved, drink,”
More rich the blessing, as Thou drawest near,
Than e’er we ask or think.
Thy broken body once again we see,
Shown in this broken bread―
This poured wine, O Saviour, tells of Thee;
Thy blood for sinners shed,
We muse upon the marvel of Thy cross―
Thy love beyond compare;
O depth of woe! O all-unfathomed loss
That Thou for us didst bear!
Beholding Thee, the Lowly One who came
To this dark world in grace,
We give Thee thanks, now gathered in Thy
name,
A large and wealthy place.
Sweet to Thine own redeemed to feed on
Thee,
In whom we died, we live.
Sweet the remembrance-cup must ever be,
That Thou, O Christ, dost give.
The loaf we share proclaims our happy lot,
“One loaf” are we―and Thine;
Poor as we were, our need is now forgot;
Exchanged for bliss divine.
One Loaf: one Cup: their witness should be
heard,
E’en were our voices dumb:
Yet to Thy praise be every bosom stirred,
Lord Jesus, till Thou come.