Bread of heaven, on thee we feed,
for thy Flesh is meat indeed;
ever may our souls be fed
with this true and living Bread;
day by day with strength supplied
through the life of him who died.
Vine of heaven, thy Blood supplies
this blest Cup of sacrifice;
'tis thy wounds our healing give,
to thy cross we look and live:
Thou our life! oh let me be
grafted, rooted, built in thee.
Words by Josiah Condor, 1824