1 Jesus is gone above the Skies,
Where our weak Senses reach him not;
And carnal Objects court our Eyes
To thrust our Saviour from our Thought.

2 He knows what wand'ring Hearts we have,
Apt to forget his lovely Face;
And, to refresh our Minds, he gave
These kind Memorials of his Grace.

3 The Lord of Life this Table spread
With his own Flesh and dying Blood;
We on the rich Provision feed,
And taste the Wine, and bless our God.

4 Let sinful Sweets be all forgot,
And Earth grow less in our Esteem;
Christ and his Love fill every Thought,
And Faith and Hope be fix'd on him.

5 While He is absent from our Sight,
'Tis to prepare our Souls a Place,
That we may dwell in heav'nly Light,
And live for ever near his Face.

[6 Our Eyes look upwards to the Hills
Whence our returning Lord shall come;
We wait thy Chariots hast'ning Wheels,
To fetch our longing Spirits home.]