1 Father, we wait to feel thy grace, To see thy glories shine; The Lord will his own table bless, And make the feast divine.
2 We touch, we taste the heavenly bread, We drink the sacred Cup; With outward forms our sense is fed, Our souls rejoice in hope.
3 We shall appear before the throne Of our forgiving God, Dress'd in the garments of his Son, And sprinkled with his blood.
4 We shall be strong to run the race, And climb the upper sky; Christ will provide our souls with grace, He bought a large supply.
5 [Let us indulge a cheerful frame, For joy becomes a feast; We love the memory of his Name, More than the wine we taste.]