Precious Bible! what a treasure

Does the word of God afford!

All I want for life or pleasure,

Food and med’cine, shield and sword:

Let the world account me poor,

Having this I need no more.

2 Food to which the world’s a stranger,

Here my hungry soul enjoys;

Of excess there is no danger—

Though it fills, it never cloys:

On a dying Christ I feed,

He is meat and drink indeed!

3 When my faith is faint and sickly,

Or when Satan wounds my mind;

Cordials to revive me quickly,

Healing med’cines here I find:

To the promises I flee,

Each affords a remedy.

4 In the hour of dark temptation,

Satan can not make me yield;

For the word of consolation

Is to me a mighty shield:

While the scripture truths are sure,

From his malice I’m secure.

5 Vain his threats to overcome me,

When I take the Spirit’s sword;

Then, with ease, I drive him from me;

Satan trembles at the word:

’Tis a sword for conquest made,

Keen the edge, and strong the blade.

6 Shall I envy, then, the miser,

Doating on his golden store?

Sure I am, or should be, wiser;

I am rich—’tis he is poor:

Jesus gives me in his word,

Food and med’cine, shield and sword.