Classic Poem

HYMN XLV.

How glorious is this holy place,
Where bread of life is giv'n!
This surely is the house of God!
This is the gate of heav'n!

Jesus, the master of the feast,
Vouchsafes his presence here;
The cup of blessing passes round,
The pious guests to chear.

Dainties that royal tables bear,
And bowls of ruddy wine,
Can't with this nobler board compare,
Crown'd with a feast divine.

Hence faithless doubts, desponding fears
No more our joys molest:
Hence all vain thoughts, and vile desires
No more our souls infest.

Can sinners doubt their pardon, when
Their judge upon them smiles?
Can they ungratefully rebel,
Whom Jesus reconciles?

The merit of his blood can calm
The soul with guilt opprest:
The torments of his cross can make
The soul all sin derest.

Jesus, we lift our hearts to thee,
To thee our longing eyes;
To thee our solemn vows address,
To thee our ardent cries.

O may our sins, that made thee bleed,
All on thy cross expire!
O may the joys, thy banquet gives,
Equal our warm desire!

So shall we mount upon the wings
Of chearful hope and love;
And here begin the songs that we
Shall better sing above.