1 Jesus is gone above the skies,
Where our weak senses reach him not
And carnal objects court our eyes
To thrust our Saviour from our thought.

2 He knows what wandering hearts we have,
Apt to forget his lovely face;
And to refresh our minds he gave
These kind memorials of his grace.

3 The Lord of life this table spread
With his own flesh and dying blood;
We on the rich provision feed,
And taste the wine, and bless the God.

4 Let sinful sweets be all forgot,
And earth grow less in our esteem;
Christ and his love fill every thought,
And faith and hope be fix'd on him.

5 While he is absent from our sight
'Tis to prepare our souls a place,
That we may dwell in heavenly light,
And live for ever near his face.

6 Our eyes look upwards to the hills
Whence our returning Lord shall come;
We wait thy chariot's awful wheels
To fetch our longing spirits home.]