’Twill take our all to buy the pure tried gold;
And naught of earth can we in heart withhold.
A cheaper way I would not, could I, go;
A dearer way no one can ever show.
I love the blessed way; it buoys me up;
My Saviour’s here, and with him I may sup.
I’ll be content with nothing short of this;
And this alone makes Heaven perpetual bliss.
Then let us make our hope and calling sure;
And all our trials patiently endure.