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C. M.

Our Lord Jesus at his own table


[The memory of our dying Lord

Awakes a thankful tongue:

How rich he spread his royal board,

And blessed the food, and sung!

Happy the men that eat this bread;

But doubly blest was he

That gently bowed his loving head,

And leaned it, Lord, on thee.

By faith the same delights we taste

As that great favorite did;

And sit and lean on Jesus' breast,

And take the heav'nly bread.]

Down from the palace of the skies,

Hither the King descends:

"Come, my beloved, eat," he cries;

"And drink salvation, friends.

["My flesh is food and physic too,

A balm for all your pains;

And the red streams of pardon flow

From these my pierced veins."]

Hosannah to his bounteous love

For such a taste below!

And yet he feeds his saints above

With nobler blessings too.

[Come the dear day, the glorious hour,

That brings our souls to rest!

Then we shall need these types no more,

But dwell at th' heav'nly feast.]

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