Oh, fair the gleams of glo­ry,
And bright the scenes of mirth,
That light­en hu­man sto­ry
And cheer this wea­ry earth;
But rich­er far our trea­sure
With whom the Spir­it dwells,
Ours, ours in heav’n­ly mea­sure
The glo­ry that ex­cels.

The lamp­light faint­ly gleam­eth
Where shines the noon­day ray;
From Je­sus’ face there beam­eth
Light of a se­ven­fold day;
And earth’s pale lights, all fad­ed,
The Light from Heav’n dis­pels;
But shines for aye un­shad­ed
The glo­ry that ex­cels.

No brok­en cis­terns need they
Who drink from liv­ing rills;
No oth­er mu­sic heed they
Whom God’s own mu­sic thrills.
Earth’s pre­cious things are taste­less,
Its bois­ter­ous mirth re­pels,
Where flows in mea­sure waste­less
The glo­ry that ex­cels.

Since on our life des­cend­ed
Those beams of light and love,
Our steps have heav’n­ward tend­ed,
Our eyes have looked above,
Till through the clouds con­ceal­ing
The home where glo­ry dwells,
Our Je­sus comes re­veal­ing
The glo­ry that ex­cels.