The Word More Precious Than Gold

I

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.

II

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!

III

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.

IV

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.

V

Vain his threats to overcome me
  When I take the Spirit’s 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.

VI

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.