1 My God, and is thy table spread?
And does thy cup with love o'erflow?
Thither be all thy children led,
And let them thy sweet mercies know.

2 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!

3 Why are its dainties all in vain
Before unwilling hearts display'd?
Was not for you the victim slain,
Are you forbid the children's bread?

4 O let thy table honour'd be,
And furnish'd well with joyful guests;
And may each soul salvation see,
That here its sacred pledges tastes!

4 Drawn by thy quick'ning grace, O Lord!
In countless numbers let them come,
And gather from their father's board,
The bread that lives beyond the tomb!

5 Nor let thy spreading gospel rest,
Till through the world thy truth has run,
Till with this bread all men be blest,
Who see the light, or feel the sun!