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1 Lord, at thy table I behold
The wonders of thy grace;
But most of all admire that I
Should find a welcome place:
2 I that am all defil'd with sin,
A rebel to my God;
I that have crucified his Son,
And trampled on his blood.
3 What strange surprising grace is this,
That such a soul has room!
My Saviour takes me by the hand,
My Jesus bids me come.
4 'Eat, O my friends,' the Saviour cries,
'The feast was made for you;
For you I groan'd, and bled, and died,
And rose, and triumph'd too.'
5 With trembling faith, and bleeding hearts,
Lord, we accept thy love:
'Tis a rich banquet we have had,
What will it be above!
6 Ye saints below, and hosts of heaven,
Join all your praising powers;
No theme is like redeeming love,
No Saviour is like ours.
7 Had I ten thousand hearts, dear Lord,
I'd give them all to thee:
Had I ten thousand tongues, they all
Should join the harmony.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | Lord, at thy table I behold |
Meter: | C. M. |
Publication Date: | 1828 |
Topic: | A Sacramental Hymn; The Means of Grace: The Lord's Supper |
Notes: | Now Public Domain. |