Father, we wait to feel thy grace,

To see thy glories shine;

The Lord will his own table bless,

And make the feast divine.

We touch, we taste the heav'nly bread,

We drink the sacred cup;

With outward forms our sense is fed,

Our souls rejoice in hope.

We shall appear before the throne

Of our forgiving God,

Dressed in the garments of his Son,

And sprinkled with his blood.

We shall be strong to run the race,

And climb the upper sky;

Christ will provide our souls with grace,

He bought a large supply.

[Let us indulge a cheerful frame,

For joy becomes a feast;

We love the memory of his name

More than the wine we taste.]