At Thy Command, Our Dearest Lord,
Here We Attend Thy Dying Feast;
Thy Blood Like Wine Adorns Thy Board,
And Thine Own Flesh Feeds Every Guest.
Our Faith Adorns Thy Bleeding Love,
And Trusts For Life In One That Died;
We Hope For Heavenly Crowns Above,
From A Redeemer Crucified.
Let The Vain World Pronounce It Shame,
And Fling Their Scandals On The Cause;
We Come To Boast Our Saviors Name,
And Make Our Triumphs In His Cross.
With Joy We Tell The Scoffing Age,
He That Was Dead Has Left His Tomb;
He Lives Above Their Utmost Rage,
And We Are Waiting Till He Come.
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