The Spirit breathes upon the Word,
And brings the truth to sight;
Precepts and promises afford
A sanctifying light.
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:
His 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.
XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER.
His master taken from his head,
Elisha saw him go;
And in desponding accents said,
"Ah, what must Israel do?"
But he forgot the Lord who lifts
The beggar to the throne;
Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts
Will soon be made his own.
What! when a Paul has run his course,
Or when Apollos dies,
Is Israel left without resource?
And have we no supplies?
Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives
We have a boundless store,
And shall be fed with what he gives,
Who lives for evermore.