Here, O My Lord, I See You Face To Face;
Here Would I Touch And Handle Things Unseen,
Here Grasp With Firmer Hand Eternal Grace,
And All My Weariness Upon You Lean.
This Is The Hour Of Banquet And Of Song;
This Is The Heavenly Table Spread Anew.
Here Let Me Feast And, Feasting, Still Prolong
The Brief Bright Hour Of Fellowship With You.
I Have No Help But Yours Nor Do I Need
Another Arm But Yours To Lean Upon.
It Is Enough, O Lord, Enough Indeed;
My Strength Is In Your Might, Your Might Alone.
Mine Is The Sin But Yours The Righteousness;
Mine Is The Guilt But Yours The Cleansing Blood.
Here Is My Robe, My Refuge, And My Peace:
Your Blood, Your Righteousness, O Lord, My God.
Too Soon We Rise; The Vessels Disappear;
The Feast, Though Not The Love, Is Past And Gone.
The Bread And Wine Remove, But You Are Here,
Nearer Than Ever, Still My Shield And Sun.
Feast After Feast Thus Comes And Passes By,
Yet, Passing, Points To The Glad Feast Above,
Giving Sweet Foretaste Of The Festal Joy,
The Lamb’s Great Marriage Feast Of Bliss And Love.