The King of Heaven His Table Spreads

The King of Heav’n His table spreads,
And blessings crown the board;
Not paradise, with all its joys,
Could such delight afford.

Pardon and peace to dying men,
And endless life are giv’n,
Through the rich blood that Jesus shed
To raise our souls to Heav’n.

Ye hungry poor, that long have strayed
In sin’s dark mazes, come:
Come from the hedges and highways
And grace shall find you room.

Millions of souls, in glory now,
Were fed and feasted here;
And millions more, still on the way,
Around the board appear.

Yet is His house and heart so large,
That millions more may come;
Nor could the wide assembling world
O’erfill the spacious room.

All things are ready, come away,
Nor weak excuses frame;
Crowd to your places at the feast;
And bless the Founder’s Name.