ON a fair Sabbath day, when His banquet is spread, <br />It is pleasant to feast with my Lord: <br />His stewards stand robed at the foot and the head <br />Of the soul-filling, life-giving board. <br />All the guests here had burthens; but by the King's grant <br />We left them behind when we came; <br />The burthen of wealth and the burthen of want, <br />And even the burthen of shame. <br />And oh, when we take them again at the gate, <br />Though still we must bear them awhile, <br />Much smaller they'll seem in the lane that grows strait, <br />And much lighter to lift at the stile. <br />For that which is in us is life to the heart, <br />Is dew to the soles of the feet, <br />Fresh strength to the loins, giving ease from their smart, <br />Warmth in frost, and a breeze in the heat. <br />No feast where the belly alone hath its fill,— <br />He gives me His body and blood; <br />The blood and the body (I'll think of it still) <br />Of my Lord, which is Christ, which is God.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sacrament-hymn/
