Thy food conform to thine array,
Is heavenly and divine;
On pastures green, where angels play,
Thy husband feeds thee fine.
Angelic food may make thee fair
And look with cheerful face;
The bread of life, the double share,
Thy husband's love and grace.
What can he give, or thou desire,
More than his flesh and blood?
Let angels wonder, saints admire,
Thy husband is thy food.
His flesh the incarnation bears,
From whence thy feeding flows;
His blood the satisfaction clears,
Thy husband doth bestows.
Th' incarnate God a sacrifice,
To turn the wrathful tide,
Is food for faith; that way suffice
Thy husband's guilty bride.
This strength'ning food may fit and fence
For work and war to come;
Till through the crowd, some moments hence,
Thy husband bring thee home:
Where plenteous feasting will succeed
To scanty feeding here;
And joyful at the table-head
Thy husband will appear.
Then crumbs to banquets will give place,
And drops to rivers new:
While heart and eye will face to face
Thy husband ever view.