Thou love­ly source of true de­light,
Whom I un­seen adore;
Unveil 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 sins and sor­rows rise,
Thy love with cheer­ful 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,
O 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.