1 Yes, there are joys that cannot die,
With God laid up in store;
Treasure, beyond the changing sky,
Brighter than golden ore.

2 The seeds, which piety and love
Have scatter'd here below,
In the fair fertile fields above
To ample harvests grow.

3 The mite, my willing hands can give,
At Jesus' feet I lay;
Grace shall the humble gift receive,
And grace at large repay.