I Find Thee So Precious

O what are the plea­sures that sil­ver can buy?

They come and they go

but can­not sa­tis­fy;

But praised be the Sav­ior!

I cease not to cry

I find Thee so pre­cious

my Sav­ior!

O sweet­er and sweet­er

as day fol­lows day

As the gold of the morn­ing

Breaks forth through the gray;

As I lift up my soul

As I praise and I pray

I find Thee more pre­cious

my Sav­ior!

I care not if all the proud world turn away

The plau­dits of men on­ly last for a day;

Their frowns do not fright­en

Or cause me dis­may

I find Thee so pre­cious

my Sav­ior!

As well in the cot­tage as un­der the dome

Beside my own cot

or wher­ev­er I roam;

The ho­ney from Heav­en

Still drips from the comb;

I find Thee so pre­cious

my Sav­ior!