Jesus, the very tho't of thee
With sweetness fills my breast;
But sweeter far thy face to see,
And in thy presence rest.

2 Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the mem'ry find
A sweeter sound than thy blest name,
O Savior of mankind!

3 Oh, hope of ev'ry contrite heart!
Oh, joy of all the meek!
To those who fall, how kind thou art!
How good to those who seek.

4 And those who find thee, find a bliss
Nor 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.

Bernard of Clairvaux, 1140. Tr. F. Caswall, 1848.