Happy the man that finds the grace,
The bless­ing of God’s chos­en race,
The wis­dom com­ing from above,
The faith that sweet­ly works by love.

Happy be­yond des­crip­tion he
Who knows: The Sav­ior died for me;
The gift un­speak­able ob­tains,
And hea­ven­ly un­der­stand­ing gains.

Wisdom di­vine! Who tells the price
Of wis­dom’s cost­ly mer­chan­dise;
Wisdom to sil­ver we pre­fer,
And gold is dross com­pared to her.

Her hands are filled with length of days,
True rich­es, and im­mor­tal praise,
Riches of Christ, on all be­stowed,
And hon­or that des­cends from God.

To pur­est joys she all in­vites,
Chaste, ho­ly, spir­it­ual de­lights;
Her ways are ways of plea­sant­ness,
And all her flow­ery paths are peace.

Happy the man who wis­dom gains,
Thrice hap­py who his Guest re­tains!
He owns, and shall for ev­er own,
Wisdom, and Christ, and Hea­ven are one.