Lord, at Thy ta­ble I be­hold
The won­ders of Thy grace;
But most of all ad­mire that I
Should find a wel­come place.

I, that am all de­filed with sin,
A re­bel to my God;
I, that have cru­ci­fied His Son,
And tram­pled on His blood.

What strange, sur­pris­ing grace is this,
That such a soul has room!
My Sav­ior takes me by the hand,
My Je­sus bids me come.

Eat, O My friends, the Sav­ior cries,
The feast was made for you;
For you I groaned, and bled, and died,
And rose, and tri­umphed, too.

With trem­bling faith, and bleed­ing hearts,
Lord, we ac­cept Thy love;
’Tis a rich ban­quet we have had,
What will it be above?

Ye saints be­low, and hosts of Hea­ven,
Join all your prais­ing powers;
No theme is like re­deem­ing love,
No Sav­ior is like ours.

Had I ten thou­sand hearts, dear Lord,
I’d give them all to Thee;
Had I ten thou­sand tongues, they all
Should join the har­mo­ny.