No Gospel IN The Lord's Supper

No Gospel like this Feast Spread for Thy Church by Thee; Nor prophet nor evangelist Preach the glad news so free.

All our Redemption cost, All our Redemption won; All it has won for us, the lost— All it cost Thee, the Son;--

Thine was the bitter price, Ours is the free gift given; Thine was the Blood of Sacrifice, Ours is the wine of Heaven!

For Thee, the burning thirst, The shame, the mortal strife, The broken heart, the side transpierced; To us, the Bread of Life!

To Thee, our curse and doom Wrapt round Thee with our sin; The horror of that mid-day gloom, The deeper night within.

To us, Thy home in light, Thy “Come, ye blessed, come!” Thy bridal raiment pure and white, Thy Father’s welcome home.

Here we would rest midway, As on a sacred height, That darkest and that brightest Day Meeting before our sight;

From that dark depth of woes Thy love for us hath trod, Up to the heights of blest repose Thy love prepares with God:

Till, from self’s chains released, One sight alone we see— Still at the Cross, as at the Feast, Behold Thee, only Thee!