Blessèd Bible, how I love it,
How it doth my bosom cheer,
What hath earth like this to covet,
Oh, what stores of wealth are here!
Man was lost! and doomed to sorrow;
Not one ray of light or bliss
Could he from earth’s treasures borrow,
Till his way was cheered by this.
Blessèd Bible, blessèd Bible,
How it doth my bosom cheer.
What has earth like this to covet,
O! what stores of wealth are here!
Yes, I'll to my bosom press thee,
Precious Word, I'll hide thee here,
Sure my very heart will bless thee,
For thou ever say'st good cheer.
Speak, poor heart, and tell thy pond’rings,
Tell how far thy rovings led!
When this book brought back thy wand'rings,
Speaking life as from the dead.
Yes, sweet Bible, I will hide thee,
Deep, yes, deeper in my heart;
Thou thro' all my life shalt guide me,
And in death we will not part.
Part in death? no, never, never,
Thro' death's vale, I’ll lean on thee;
Then in worlds above forever,
Sweeter still thy truths shall be.
—by Alonzo J. Abbey