689. S. M. Furnesy. A Communion Hymn. 1 O, for a prophet's fire, O, for an angel's tongue, To speak the mighty love of Him Who on the cross was hung. 2 In vain our hearts attempt, In language meet, to tell How through a thousand sorrows burned That flame unquenchable. 3 Yet would we praise that love, Beyond expression dear: Come, gather round this table, then, And celebrate it here. 690. C. M. Montgomery. "This do in remembrance of me." 1 According to thy gracious word, In meek humility, This will I do, my dying Lord, I will remember thee. 2 Thy body broken for my sake, My bread from heaven shall be; Thy testamental cup I take, And thus remember thee. 3 When to the cross I turn mine eyes, And rest on Calvary, O Lamb of God, my sacrifice! I must remember thee. 4 Remember thee, and all thy pains, And all thy love to me; Yea, while a breath, a pulse remains, Will I remember thee. 691. C. M. Noel. "We love him because he first loved us." 1 If human kindness meets return, And owns the grateful tie; If tender thoughts within us burn To feel that friends are nigh; 2 O, shall not warmer accents tell The gratitude we owe To Him who died, our fears to quell, And save from death and woe? 3 While yet in anguish he surveyed Those pangs he would not flee, What love his latest words displayed; "Meet, and remember me." 4 Remember thee! thy death, thy shame, Our sinful hearts to share! O, memory, leave no other name But his, recorded there. 692. S. M. Watts. "Whosoever will, let him come!" 1 Jesus invites his friends To meet around his board, And join in blest communion here With him their gracious Lord. 2 For us he gave his life; For us he gave his blood; To save from sin our thankless race, And bring them back to God. 3 Our heavenly Father calls Christ and his members one; We the young children of his grace, And he the elder Son. 4 Let all our souls unite A grateful song to raise; Pleasure and love fill every mind, And every voice be praise. 693. L. M. Watts. A View of the Cross. 1 When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. 2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ, my Lord; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood. 3 See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e'er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown?