Thou lovely Source of true delight,
Whom I unseen adore!
Unvail thy beauties to my sight,
That I may love thee more.
Thy glory o’er creation shines;—
But in thy sacred word,
I read, in fairer, brighter lines,
My bleeding, dying Lord.
‘Tis here, whene’er my comforts droop,
And sin and sorrow rise,
Thy love, with cheering beams of hope,
My fainting heart supplies.
But ah! too soon the pleasing scene
Is clouded o’er with pain;
My gloomy fears rise dark between,
And I again complain.
Jesus, my Lord, my life, my light!
Oh, come with blissful ray;
Break radiant through the shades of night,
And chase my fears away.
Then shall my soul with rapture trace
The wonders of thy love:
But the full glories of thy face
Are only known above.
—Anne Steele