My God, and is thy table spread
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My God, and is thy table spread, And doth thy cup with love o'erflow? 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 bounties 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. |
Deus, mensam-ne praeparas, amore poculum replens? Ut illuc omnes dirigas sapore cunctos attrahens! Quam bene Jesus obtulit cum carne sanguinem suum! Beatus ille qui capit hanc escam, hoc effluvium. Haec tanta quare munera monstrantur abnuentibus? Pro his mactatur Hostia: cenant-ne liberi secus? Fac mensa laudetur tua sodalibusque plena sit, gustantibusque pignora salvatio provenerit. |