Laden with guilt, and full of fears,

I fly to thee, my Lord,

And not a glimpse of hope appears

But in thy written word.

The volume of my Father's grace

Does all my griefs assuage;

Here I behold my Savior's face

Almost in every page.

[This is the field where hidden lies

The pearl of price unknown;

That merchant is divinely wise

Who makes the pearl his own.]

[Here consecrated water flows

To quench my thirst of sin;

Here the fair tree of knowledge grows,

Nor danger dwells therein.]

This is the Judge that ends the strife

Where wit and reason fail,

My guide to everlasting life

Through all this gloomy vale.

O may thy counsels, mighty God,

My roving feet command;

Nor I forsake the happy road

That leads to thy right hand.