Oh, Je­sus Christ! how bright and fair
The state of ho­ly mar­riage where
Thy bless­ing rich is giv­en!
What gra­cious gifts Thou dost be­stow,
What streams of bless­ing ev­er flow
Down from Thy ho­ly Hea­ven,
When they true stay
To Thee ev­er, leave Thee ne­ver,
Whose troth pligh­ted,
In one life have been un­it­ed.

When man and wife are mat­ed well,
In har­mo­ny to­ge­ther dwell,
Are faith­ful to each oth­er,
The streams of bliss flow con­stant­ly;
What bliss of an­gels is on high
From hence may we dis­cov­er;
No storm, no worm
Can de­stroy it, can e’er gnaw it,
What God giv­eth
To the pair that in Him liv­eth.

He gi­veth of His grace the boon,
And in its bo­som late and soon
His own be­loved He keep­eth;
His arms He dai­ly spread­eth o’er,
Guards as a fa­ther by His pow­er,
Us and our house, nor sleep­eth,
Still we must be
Here and thi­ther roam­ing ev­er,
Till He gives us
Pious homes, and thus re­lieves us.

The hus­band’s like a good­ly tree
Whose branch­es spread so fair and free;
The wife a vine that giv­eth
Much fruit, and nur­tures what it bears;
Whose fruit in­creas­eth with the years,
Fruit that re­mains and liveth.
Jewel, all hail!
Husband’s trea­sure! house’s plea­sure!
Crown of hon­or!
On His throne God think­eth on her.

O wife! the Lord hath chos­en thee
That from thy womb brought forth should be
The folk His church that build­eth;
His won­drous work goes on for aye,
The migh­ty word His mouth doth say,
What thou be­hold­est, yield­eth;
Sons fair stand there,
Daughters sit­ting, work­ing, knit­ting,
Finely spin­ning,
And with art time wise­ly win­ning.

Be of good cheer, it was not we
Who first this or­der did de­cree,
It was a high­er Fa­ther,
Who loved and lov­eth us for aye,
And from whose lips when grieved each day
We friend­ly coun­sel gather;
Good end He’ll send,
What we’re do­ing and pur­su­ing,
Or con­ceiv­ing
Wise and hap­py is­sue giv­ing.

A time will come, it can­not fail,
When we ’neath tri­als sore shall quail,
And tears be free­ly flow­ing;
To him who bears it pa­tient­ly,
By God’s grace shall his sor­row be
Turned in­to joy o’er­flow­ing;
Toil now, wait thou,
He ar­riv­eth who rest giv­eth,
Who can ev­er
Banish care and soon de­liv­er.

Come hi­ther, then, my king so blessed!
In tri­als guide, in pain give rest,
In an­xious times re­liev­ing!
To Thee we shall as­cribe the praise,
Our hearts and voic­es we shall raise
In one loud song, thanks giv­ing,
Till we with Thee
Ever dwell­ing, and ful­fill­ing,
They will ev­er,
Thy name cease to praise shall ne­ver.