1 At thy Command, our dearest Lord,
Here we attend thy dying Feast;
Thy Blood, like Wine adorns thy Board,
And thine own Flesh feeds ev'ry Guest.

2 Our Faith adores thy bleeding Love,
And trusts for Life in one that dy'd;
We hope for heav'nly Crowns above,
From a Redeemer crucify'd.

3 Let the vain World pronounce it Shame,
And fling their Scandals on the Cause;
We come to boast our Saviour's Name,
And make our Triumphs in his Cross.

4 With Joy we tell the scoffing Age,
He that was dead has left his Tomb,
He lives above their utmost Rage,
And we are waiting till he come.