Lord, May the Spirit of this Feast

Lord

may the spir­it of this feast—

The ear­nest of Thy love—

Maintain a dwell­ing in our breast

Until we meet ab­ove.

The heal­ing sense of par­doned sin

The hope that nev­er tires

The strength a pil­grim’s race to win

The joy that Heav’n in­spires.

Still may their light our du­ties trace

In lines of hal­lowed flame

Like that up­on the pro­phet’s face

When from the mount he came.

But if no more with kin­dred dear

The brok­en bread we share

Nor at the ban­quet board ap­pear

To breathe the grate­ful pray­er:

Forget us not—when on the bed

Of dire dis­ease we waste

Or to the cham­bers of the dead

And bar of judg­ment haste.

Forget not—Thou who bore the woe

Of Cal­va­ry’s fa­tal tree—

Those who with­in these courts be­low

Have thus re­mem­bered Thee.