Sunday Hymn: Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee

Jesus, the ve­ry thought of Thee
With sweet­ness fills the breast;
But sweet­er far Thy face to see,
And in Thy pre­sence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the me­mo­ry find
A sweet­er sound than Thy blest name,
O Sav­ior of man­kind!

O hope of ev­ery con­trite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
To those who fall, how kind Thou art!
How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah, this
Nor tongue nor pen can show;
The love of Je­sus, what it is,
None but His loved ones know.

Jesus, our on­ly joy be Thou,
As Thou our prize will be;
Jesus be Thou our glo­ry now,
And through eter­ni­ty.

O Je­sus, King most won­der­ful
Thou Con­quer­or re­nowned,
Thou sweet­ness most in­ef­fa­ble
In whom all joys are found!

When once Thou vis­it­est the heart,
Then truth be­gins to shine,
Then earth­ly va­ni­ties de­part,
Then kin­dles love di­vine.

O Je­sus, light of all be­low,
Thou fount of liv­ing fire,
Surpassing all the joys we know,
And all we can de­sire.

Jesus, may all con­fess Thy name,
Thy won­drous love ad­ore,
And, seek­ing Thee, them­selves in­flame
To seek Thee more and more.

Thee, Je­sus, may our voic­es bless,
Thee may we love alone,
And ev­er in our lives ex­press
The im­age of Thine own.

O Je­sus, Thou the beau­ty art
Of an­gel worlds above;
Thy name is mu­sic to the heart,
Inflaming it with love.

Celestial sweet­ness un­al­loyed,
Who eat Thee hun­ger still;
Who drink of Thee still feel a void
Which on­ly Thou canst fill.

O most sweet Je­sus, hear the sighs
Which un­to Thee we send;
To Thee our in­most spir­it cries;
To Thee our pray­ers as­cend.

Abide with us, and let Thy light
Shine, Lord, on ev­ery heart;
Dispel the dark­ness of our night;
And joy to all im­part.

Jesus, our love and joy to Thee,
The vir­gin’s ho­ly Son,
All might and praise and glo­ry be,
While end­less ag­es run.

— Ber­nard of Clair­vaux, 12th Cen­tu­ry