THE Spirit breathes upon the Word,

A glory gilds the sacred page, Majestic, like the sun: It gives a light to every age; It gives, but borrows none.

The hand that gave it still supplies The gracious light and heat: Its truths upon the nations rise; They rise, but never set.

Let everlasting thanks be Thine For such a bright display As makes a world of darkness shine With beams of heavenly day.

My soul rejoices to pursue The steps of Him I love, Till glory breaks upon my view In brighter worlds above.