At thy command, our dearest Lord,
Here we attend thy dying feast;
Thy blood like wine adorns thy board,
And thine own flesh feeds every guest.

Our faith adores thy bleeding love,
And trusts for life in one that died
We hope for heav'nly crowns above,
From a Redeemer crucified.

Let the vain world pronounce it shame,
And fling their scandals on the cause;
We come to boast our Savior's name,
And make our triumphs in his cross.

With joy we tell the scoffing age,
He that was dead has left his tomb;
He lives above their utmost rage,
And we are waiting till he come.

The Psalms and Hymns of Isaac Watts