Jesus, my Lord, my chief de­light,
For Thee I long, for Thee I pray,
Amid the sha­dow of the night,
Amid the bu­si­ness of the day.

When shall I see Thy smil­ing face,
That face which oft­en I have seen?
Arise, Thou Sun of right­eous­ness,
Scatter the clouds that in­ter­vene.

Thou art the glo­ri­ous gift of God
To sin­ners wea­ry and dis­tressed;
The first of all His gifts be­stowed,
And cer­tain pledge of all the rest.

Could I but say this gift is mine,
The world should be be­neath my feet;
Though poor, no more would I re­pine,
Or look with en­vy on the great.

The pre­cious jew­el I would keep,
And lodge it deep with­in my heart;
At home, abroad, awake, asleep,
It ne­ver should from thence de­part.