O Lord, Who Hast This Table Spread

O Lord, who hast this table spread,
what royal fare thou dost provide,
thy broken body for our bread,
the cup from thine own wounds supplied!

But e'en this bread will be a stone,
this cup of blessing mock our thirst,
unless thy gracious hand alone
shall bless and give them as at first.

O come, then, Lord, and here preside:
give thine own welcome to each guest,
nor let it be to love denied
to lean confiding on thy breast.

Then rich the portion thou wilt give;
no more the hung'ring heart can need;
thyself the bread by which we live,
thy precious blood our drink indeed.

Thus shall thy cross be lifted up
till thou return, the King confessed,
to call thine own with thee to sup
within thy Father's Kingdom blest.

O Lord, on high now glorified,
when wilt thou come to bring us home?
Hear thou thy Spirit and thy Bride,
and come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.