1 Of all the joys we mortals know,
Jesus, thy love exceeds the rest;
Love, the best blessing here below,
The nearest image of the blest.

2 While we are held in thy embrace,
There's not a thought attempts to rove;
Each smile upon thy beauteous face,
Fixes, and charms, and fires our Love.

3 While of thine absence we complain,
And long, or weep in all we do,
There's a strange pleasure in the pain,
And tears have their own sweetness too.

4 When round thy courts by day we rove,
Or ask the watchmen of the night
For some kind tidings of our love,
Thy very name creates delight.

5 Jesus, our God, yet rather come,
Our eyes would dwell upon thy face;
'Tis best to see our Lord at home,
And feel the presence of his grace.