Thy Word, O Lord, like gentle dews,

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 ev’ry tree
Forth 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.
Let it go forth o’er all the earth
To cleanse our hearts within,
To show Thy power in Satan’s hour,
And break the might 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;
In every spirit shine,
That none may miss heaven’s final bliss,
Led by Thy light divine.
       Carl Bernhard Garve  Tr Catherine Winkworth, altered