اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
Here at thy table, Lord, we meet,
To feed on food divine:
Thy body is the bread we eat,
Thy precious blood the wine.
He, who prepares this rich repast,
Himself comes down and dies;
And then invites us thus to feast
Upon the sacrifice.
Here peace and pardon sweetly flow;
Oh what delightful food!
We eat the bread—and drink the wine—
But think on nobler good.
Deep was the suff'ring he endured
Upon the accursed tree—
For me—each welcome guest may say,
'Twas all endured for me.
Sure there was never love so free—
Dear Savior—so divine!
Well thou mayest claim that heart of me
Which owes so much to thine.
