1 O Lord, who hast this table spread,
what royal fare thou dost provide,
thy broken body for our bread,
the cup from thine own wounds supplied!

2 But e'en this bread will be a stone,
this cup of blessing mock our thirst,
unless thy gracious hand alone
shall bless and give them as at first.

3 O come, then, Lord, and here preside:
give thine own welcome to each guest,
nor let it be to love denied
to lean confiding on thy breast.

4 Then rich the portion thou wilt give;
no more the hung'ring heart can need;
thyself the bread by which we live,
thy precious blood our drink indeed.

5 Thus shall thy cross be lifted up
till thou return, the King confessed,
to call thine own with thee to sup
within thy Father's Kingdom blest.

6 O Lord, on high now glorified,
when wilt thou come to bring us home?
Hear thou thy Spirit and thy Bride,
and come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.