Classic Poem

Thy gospel-table's furnish'd, Lord,
With plenty from above;
The fruits of life o'erspread the board,
The cup o'erflows with love.

Thy ancient family the Jews,
Was first call'd to the feast;
We Gentiles take what they refuse,
And glad the banquet taste.

We are the poor, the blind, the lame,
Made up of wounds and wants;
But at thy call, we come to claim
Supplies thy mercy grants.

What shall we pay th' eternal Son
That left his high abode,
And to this wretched earth came down,
To bring us back to God?

To save our souls, and buy our lives,
It cost him ev'n his own:
He bought the unknown joys he gives
With agonies unknown.

Our endless love to him is due,
That ransom'd sinners lost,
And pity'd rebels, though he knew
What pains his love would cost.