Hymns on the Lord's Supper, 42

Glory to Him who freely spent
His blood, that we might live,
And through this choicest instrument
Doth all His blessings give.

Fasting He doth, and hearing bless,
And prayer can much avail,
Good vessels all to draw the grace
Out of salvation's well.

But none, like this mysterious rite
Which dying mercy gave,
Can draw forth all His promised might
And all His will to save.

This is the richest legacy
Thou hast on man bestow'd:
Here chiefly, Lord, we feed on Thee,
And drink Thy precious blood.

Here all Thy blessings we receive,
Here all Thy gifts are given,
To those that would in Thee believe,
Pardon, and grace, and heaven.

Thus may we still in Thee be blest,
Till all from earth remove,
And share with Thee the marriage feast,
And drink the wine above.