Isaac Watts · 627 of 724

Hymn 119

Laden with guilt, and full of fears, I fly to thee, my Lord, And not a glimpse of hope appears But in thy written word.

The volume of my Father's grace Does all my griefs assuage; Here I behold my Savior's face Almost in every page.

[This is the field where hidden lies The pearl of price unknown; That merchant is divinely wise Who makes the pearl his own.]

[Here consecrated water flows To quench my thirst of sin; Here the fair tree of knowledge grows, Nor danger dwells therein.]

This is the Judge that ends the strife Where wit and reason fail, My guide to everlasting life Through all this gloomy vale.

O may thy counsels, mighty God, My roving feet command; Nor I forsake the happy road That leads to thy right hand.