The table of Thy grace,

Lord, here I take my place;

Let me Thy face behold well pleased:

Thy face, my dearest Lord,

Doth highest joy afford,

And love's sweet word lights up the feast.

When musing I draw near

The woe of nail and spear,

With reverent fear my spirit guide:

Let me Thy freedom share,

Make strong my faith to bear

Thine ark with care till eventide.

Soon, soon doth time remove

These earthly feasts of love--

The sorrow of the world remains:

But in that sweet countrie

No sword to bear have we,

For charity unending reigns.