Beneath the forms of outward rite
Thy
supper, Lord, is spread
In
every quiet upper room
Where
fainting souls are fed.
2
The
bread is always conscreate
Which
men divide with men;
And
every act of brotherhood
Repeats
Thy feast again.
3
The
blessed cup is only passed
True
memory of Thee,
When
life a new pours out its wine
With
rich sufficiency.
4
O
Master, through these symbols shared,
Thine
own dear self impart,
That
in our daily life may flame
The
passionof Thy heart.