1 What mighty man, or lovely God,
Comes marching downward from the skies?
Array'd in garments roll'd in blood,
With joy and pity in his eyes?
2 The Lord! the Saviour! yes, 'tis he!
I know him by the smiles he wears!
Dear glorious man that died for me,
Drench'd deep in agonies and tears!
3 Lo! he reveals his shining breast,
I own those wounds, and I adore;
Lo! he prepares a royal feast,
Sweet fruit of those sharp pangs he bore!
4 Whence flow these favours so divine?
Lord! why so lavish of thy blood?
Why for such earthly souls as mine,
This heavenly wine, this sacred food?
5 'Twas his own love that made him bleed,
That nail'd him to the cursed tree;
'Twas his own love the table spread
For such unworthy worms as we!
6 Then let us taste the Saviour's love;
Come, Faith, and feed upon the Lord:
With glad consent our lips shall move,
And sweet hosannas crown the board.
|First Line:||What heavenly man, or lovely God|
|Topic:||A preparatory Thought for the Lord's Supper; The Means of Grace: The Lord's Supper|