8,7,8,7,7,7

The word more precious than gold.

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.

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.

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.

In the hour of dark temptation

Satan cannot 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.

Vain his threats to overcome me,

When I take the Spirits' 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.

Shall I envy then the miser

Doting 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.