The tables spread my soul there spies

1 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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;

5 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.

6 '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.

7 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 1800