The King of Heaven
The King of Heavín 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 givín,
Through the rich blood that Jesus shed
To raise our souls to Heavín.
Ye hungry poor, that long have strayed
In sinís 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
Oíerfill the spacious room.
All things are ready, come away,
Nor weak excuses frame;
Crowd to your places at the feast;
And bless the Founderís Name.
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