1 Precious Bible! what a treasure,
Does the word of GOD afford?
All I want for life or pleasure,
Food and medicine, shield and sword
Let the world account me poor,
Having this I want no more.

2 Food to which the world's a stranger,
Here my hungry soul enjoys;
Of excess there is no danger,
Tho' 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 medicines here I find:
To the promises I flee,
Each affords a remedy.

4 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 endure,
From his pow'r I am secure.