From the villages retiring,
Burning with a holy flame,
Though His last days were expiring,
Jesus to the city came:
Still His own disciples loving,
He had words of peace to say;
Anxious thoughts His breast were moving
As drew near the farewell day.

Round the sacred table sitting,
When the traitorous foe had gone,
Love their souls more closely knitting,
As the dreadful scene drew on,
Pledges of His love He gave them,
Sweet memorials of His name;
Then declared how He, to save them,
From the Father's bosom came.

Peace I leave — my dying token —
'Tis my peace I give to you;
Let the words that I have spoken
Be your trust and comfort too.
For a little while I leave you,
To my Father I must go;
Yet I will not — will not grieve you,
But the Comforter bestow.

Mansions in yon world of glory,
I am going to prepare;
Though the path be dark and gory,
Ye shall all be with Me there.
Father, let Thy mercy guide them,
Sanctify them by Thy grace;
And, whatever woes betide them,
Let them see Thy smiling face.