The memorial of our absent Lord,
John 16. 16. Luke 22. 19. John 14. 3.
Jesus is gone above the skies,
Where our weak senses reach him not
And carnal objects court our eyes
To thrust our Saviour from our thought.
He knows what wandering hearts we have,
Apt to forget his lovely face;
And to refresh our minds he gave
These kind memorials of his grace.
The Lord of life this table spread
With his own flesh and dying blood;
We on the rich provision feed,
And taste the wine, and bless the God.
Let sinful sweets be all forgot,
And earth grow less in our esteem;
Christ and his love fill every thought,
And faith and hope be fix’d on him.
While he is absent from our sight
‘Tis to prepare our souls a place,
That we may dwell in heavenly light,
And live for ever near his face.
Our eyes look upwards to the hills
Whence our returning Lord shall come;
We wait thy chariot’s awful wheels
To fetch our longing spirits home.]