The word of truth’s a spa­cious field,
Adorned with frag­rant flowers;
A gold­en mine, where we may search,
And make the trea­sure ours.

Here streams of milk and honey flow,
Diwinely rich and free;
Here Christ un­veils His love­ly face,
And bids us come and see.

Here’s liv­ing wa­ter, liv­ing bread,
And more than an­gels’ fare;
Millions of souls have been sup­plied,
And yet there’s much to spare.

Here, as up­on the tree of life,
Fruits grow of va­ri­ous kind;
And as in famed Be­thes­da’s pool,
We help and heal­ing find.

Come then, my soul, these truths at­tend,
With hum­ble hope and fear;
Here search for Christ, the pearl of price,
And thou shalt find Him here.

Then wide­ly spread His worth and fame,
Let hea­thens hear His voice;
Oh send His word to ev­ery shore,
And bid the earth re­joice.