At Thy Command, Our Dearest Lord

At Thy com­mand

our dear­est Lord

Here we at­tend Thy dy­ing feast;

Thy blood like wine adorns Thy board

And Thine own flesh feeds ev­ery guest.

Our faith adorns Thy bleed­ing love

And trusts for life in One that died;

We hope for heav’n­ly crowns above

From a Re­deem­er cru­ci­fied.

Let the vain world pro­nounce it shame

And fling their scan­dals on the cause;

We come to boast our Sav­ior’s name

And make our tri­umphs in His cross.

With joy we tell the scoff­ing age

He that was dead has left His tomb;

He lives above their ut­most rage

And we are wait­ing till He come.