My soul de­sires the word,
As in­fants seek the breast;
To me its sacr­ed pro­mis­es
Afford a con­stant feast.

When I be­hold the page,
Where Je­sus’ glo­ries shine,
A ge­ni­al warmth spreads o’er my soul,
The pow­er of love di­vine.

Its pre­cepts are a light,
To guide me lest I stray,
A shin­ing lamp around my path,
To show my feet the way.

Its threat­en­ings awe the mind,
And make me fear to sin;
And while Thy word is my de­light,
It keeps my con­science clean.

’Tis here, in deep dis­tress,
I solid comfort find;
Beneath the frown­ings of the world,
It soothes the trou­bled mind.

From im­per­fect­ion free,
In it all rich­es meet;
Not pur­est gold is half so dear,
Nor ho­ney half so sweet.