The memory of our dying Lord

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.