347. My Grod, and is Thy table spread

My Grod, and is Thy table spread,

And doth Thy cup with love o'erfiow?

Thither be all Thy children led,

And let them all Thy sweetness know.

Hail, sacred Feast, which Jesus makes,

Rich banquet of His Flesh and Blood!

Thrice happy he who here partakes

That sacred stream, that heavenly food.

Why are its dainties all in vain

Before unwilling hearts displayed?

Was not for them the Victim slain?

Are they forbid the children's bread?

O let Thy table honoured be,

And furnished well with joyful guests;

And may each soul salvation see

That here its sacred pledges tastes.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

The God whom heaven and earth adore,

From men and from the angel-host

Be praise and glory evermore.