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.
He knows what wand'ring Hearts we have,
Apt to forget his lovely Face;
And, to refresh our Minds, he gave
These kind Memorials of his Grace.

2 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 our God.
Let sinful Sweets be all forgot,
And Earth grow less in our Esteem;
Christ and his Love fill ev'ry Thought,
And Faith and Hope be fix'd on Him.

3 While He is absent from our Sight,
'Tis to prepare our Souls a Place,
That we may dwell in heav'nly Light,
And live for ever near his Face.
Our Eyes look upwards to the Hills
Whence our returning Lord shall come;
We wait thy Chariots hast'ning Wheels,
To fetch our longing Spirits home.