1 Jesus, the very thought of thee
with sweetness fills my breast;
but sweeter far thy face to see,
and in thy presence rest.
2 Nor voice can sing, no heart can frame,
nor can the memory find,
a sweeter sound than thy blest name,
O Saviour of us all!
3 O hope of every contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
to those who ask, how kind thou art,
how good to those who seek!
4 But what to those who find? Ah, this
no tongue nor pen can show;
the love of Jesus, what it is
none but his loved ones know.
5 Jesus, our only joy be thou,
as thou our prize wilt be;
Jesus, be thou our glory now,
and through eternity.
|First Line:||Jesus, the very thought of thee|
|Title:||Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee|
|Translator:||Edward Caswall, 1814-1878|
|Source:||Latin, 12th c|
|Composer:||John B. Dykes, 1823-1876|