The Table Spread My Soul There Spies


The tables spread my soul there spies,
The victims bleed, the savior dies,
In anguish on the tree!
I hear his dying groans! I prove
His bleeding heart, his dying love,
He died, my soul, for thee.

The table’s spread–the royal food
Is Jesus’ sacred flesh and blood,
A feast of love divine:
His bleeding heart! his dying groans!
His sacred blood for sin atones–
Atones, my soul for thine.

The feast is spread with bleeding hands,
Bedewed with blood; and lo! it stands
To fill the hungry mind;
‘Tis free, and whosoever will,
May feast his soul and drink his fill,
And grace and glory find.

Whilst at the table sits the King,
Raptured with joy, my soul shall sing,
With an immortal flame;
My Savior’s grace I’ll still adore,
With joy I’ll love him more and more,
And bless his sacred name;

O sacred flesh! O solemn feast!
When Christ my Lord, the royal guest,
Is at his table found;
This adds new glories to my joy–
It bids me sin, and well I may,
It makes my bliss abound.

‘Tis thus my soul by faith is fed,
On angels’ food, with living bread,
And manna from above–
On sacred flesh, on dying blood!
I feast till I am full of God,
And drink the wine of love.

It is an early antipast,
Of heavenly bliss it is a taste,
A taste on earthly ground.
If here so sweet–if here we prove
Seraphic joy–celestial love,
In heav’n what will be found?

Divine Hymns, or Spiritual Songs: for the use of religious assemblies and private Christians