Thy Word, O Lord, like gen­tle dews,
Falls soft on hearts that pine;
Lord, to Thy gar­den ne’er re­fuse
This hea­ven­ly balm of Thine.
Watered by Thee, let ev­ery tree
Then blos­som to Thy praise,
By grace of Thine bear fruit di­vine
Through all the com­ing days.

Thy Word is like a flam­ing sword,
A wedge that cleav­eth stone;
Keen as a fire so burns Thy Word,
And pierc­eth flesh and bone;
O send it forth o’er all the earth
To cleanse our hearts with­in,
To show Thy pow­er in Sa­tan’s hour,
And break the night of sin.

Thy Word a won­drous guid­ing star,
On pil­grim hearts doth rise,
Leads those to God who dwell afar,
And makes the sim­ple wise.
Let not its light e’er sink in night,
But in each spir­it shine,
That none may miss Hea­ven’s fi­nal bliss,
Led by Thy light di­vine.