The King of Heav’n His ta­ble spreads,
And dain­ties crown the board;
Not pa­ra­dise with all its joys
Could such de­light af­ford.

Pardon and peace to dy­ing men,
And end­less life are giv’n,
And the rich blood, that Je­sus shed,
To raise the soul to Hea­ven.

Ye hun­gry poor, that long have strayed
In sin’s dark maz­es, come:
Come from the hedg­es and high­ways
And grace shall find you room.

Millions of souls in glo­ry now,
Were fed, and feast­ed here;
And mill­ions more, still on the way,
Around the board ap­pear.

Yet is His house and heart so large,
That mill­ions more may come;
Nor could the wide as­sem­bling world
O’er-fill the spa­cious room.

All things are rea­dy; come away,
Nor weak ex­cus­es frame;
Crowd to your plac­es at the feast,
And bless the Found­er’s name.