This day
We sing
The friend of our eternal King:
Who in His bosome lay.
And kept the keys
Of His profound and glorious mysteries:
Which to the world dispensèd by his hand,
Made it stand
Fix'd in amazement to behold that light
Which came
From the throne of the Lamb,
To invite
Our wretched eyes—which nothing else could see
But fire, and sword, hunger and miserie—
To anticipate by their ravish'd sight
The beauty of celestial delight.
Mysterious God, regard me when I pray:
And when this load of clay
Shall fall away,
O let Thy gracious hand conduct me up,
Where on the Lamb's rich viands I may sup:
And in this last Supper I
May with Thy friend in Thy sweet bosome lie
For ever in Eternity.
Allelujah.