Too soon we
rise: the symbols disappear.
The feast, though not the love,
is past and gone;
The bread and wine remove, but
thou art here,
Nearer than ever, still my
Shield and Sun.
I have no help but thine: nor do
I need
Another arm save Thine to lean
upon;
It is enough, my Lord, enough
indeed;
My strength is in Thy might, Thy
might alone.
Mine is the sin, but Thine the
righteousness;
Mine is the guilt, but thine the
cleansing blood;
Here is my robe, my refuge and
my peace–
Thy blood, Thy righteousness, O
Lord my God.
Feast after feast thus comes and
passes by,
Yet, passing, points to the glad
feast above,
Giving sweet foretaste of the
festal joy,
The Lamb's great bridal feast of
bliss and love.
–Horatius Bonar.
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