Lord, Thy Word abid­eth ev­er,
Swift to suc­cor, sure to save,
If with faith’s su­preme en­dea­vor
We Thy pro­mised mer­cy crave:
Let its glo­ry
Light the dark­ness of the grave!

Sweetest peace and con­so­la­tion
Dwell for ev­er in that word;
For its tid­ings of sal­va­tion
Tell us of a pro­mised Lord,
Throned in Hea­ven,
By an­gel­ic hosts ad­ored.

There the pro­phet’s glow­ing vi­sion
Shows the joy of lat­ter days;
There the wise man’s just de­ci­sion
Guides our feet o’er earth’s dark ways;
All its pag­es
Shine with truth’s im­mor­tal rays.

There we read the won­drous sto­ry
Of the Babe of Beth­le­hem,
Crucified, but crowned with glo­ry,
Promised rod of Jes­se’s stem;
Soon to meet us,
Decked with roy­al di­adem.

Lord, be this our con­so­la­tion,
When earth’s joy shall pass away;
In death’s hour of tri­bu­lation,
In the aw­ful judg­ment day:
Heavens may van­ish,
But Thy Word shall stand for aye!