Isaac Watts · 693 of 724

Hymn 15

[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.]