The Stennetts of England - Joseph Stennett - Hymn Poems

You who our Lord's great banquet share

You who our Lord's great banquet share;
   And welcome places find
His table round, his praises sound
   With well-tun'd voice and mind.

Remember all his acts of love,
   His torments every one:
Whom angels fear'd, him mortals jeer'd,
   Blasphem'd and spat upon.

See's head all torn with thorns, his face
   (Divinely bright before)
Now mar'd more than the sons of men,
   Reeking with sweat and gore.

See in his hands and feet the nails
   Piercing the sender veins:
See how each wound she blushing ground
   With precious tincture stains.

See his side spout a stream of blood
   And water thro' the wound;
A stream wherein we're wash'd from sin,
   And all our guilt is drown'd.

But, oh! what terrors wrack'd his soul
   In that last agony,
When (ere he dy'd) my God he cry'd!,
   Why have you forsaken me!

Thus groan'd and dy'd the son of God,
   That we might ever use
There, where all bliss our souls can with,
   Or can contain, hell give.

Mean while she myst'ries of his grace
   His table here display;
O how his love our souls should move,
   And tongues to sing his praise!

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