Hymn CXLII. Common Metre. The Scriptures

Laden with guilt and full of fears I come to thee, my Lord; For not a ray of hope appears But in thy holy word.

The volume of my Father's grace Does all my grief assuage; There I behold my Saviour's face In every sacred page.

This is the field where hidden lies The pearl of price unknown; Then blest is he who wisely tries To make that pearl his own.

Here living water gently flows To wash me from my sin; Here the fair tree of knowledge grows, Nor danger dwells therein.

This is the judge that ends the strife Where sense and reason fail; My guide to everlasting life, Thro' all this gloomy vale.

May thy wise counsels, O my God, These roving feet command; Lest I forsake the happy road That leads to thy right hand.