Elizabeth Charles (1827–1896)

AROUND a Table, not a Tomb,

He willed our gathering-place to be;

When going to prepare our home,

Our Saviour said—“Remember Me.”

We kneel around no sculptured stone,

Marking the place where Jesus lay;—

Empty the tomb, the angels gone,

The stone for ever rolled away.

Nay! sculptured stones are for the dead!

Thy three dark days of death are o’er;

Thou art the Life, our living Head,

Our living Light for evermore!

Of no fond relics, sadly dear,

O Master! are Thine own possest;

The crown of thorns, the cross, the spear,

The purple robe, the seamless vest.

Nay, relics are for those who mourn

The memory of an absent friend;

Not absent Thou, nor we forlorn!

“With you each day until the end!”

Thus round Thy Table, not Thy Tomb,

We keep Thy sacred Feast with Thee;

Until within the Father’s Home

Our endless gathering-place shall be.