1 Jesus is gone above the skies, Where our weak senses reach him not And carnal objects court our eyes To thrust our Saviour from our thought.
2 He knows what wandering hearts we have, Apt to forget his lovely face; And to refresh our minds he gave These kind memorials of his grace.
3 The Lord of life this table spread With his own flesh and dying blood; We on the rich provision feed, And taste the wine, and bless the God.
4 Let sinful sweets be all forgot, And earth grow less in our esteem; Christ and his love fill every thought, And faith and hope be fix'd on him.
5 While he is absent from our sight 'Tis to prepare our souls a place, That we may dwell in heavenly light, And live for ever near his face.
6 Our eyes look upwards to the hills Whence our returning Lord shall come; We wait thy chariot's awful wheels To fetch our longing spirits home.]