Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for
thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are, and
were created.
Rev. iv. 11.
Earth has nothing sweet or fair,
Lovely forms or beauties rare,
But before my eyes they bring
Christ, of beauty Source and Spring.
When the morning paints the skies,
When the golden sunbeams rise,
Then my Saviour's form I find
Brightly imaged on my mind.
When the day-beams pierce the night,
Oft I think on Jesu's light,
Think how bright that light will be,
Shining through eternity.
When, as moonlight softly steals,
Heaven its thousand eyes reveals,
Then I think: Who made their light
Is a thousand times more bright.
When I see, in spring-tide gay,
Fields their varied tints display,
Wakes the awful thought in me,
What must their Creator be!
If I trace the fountain's source,
Or the brooklet's devious course,
Straight my thoughts to Jesus mount,
As the best and purest fount.
Sweet the song the night-bird sings,
Sweet the lute, with quivering strings;
Far more sweet than every tone
Are the words 'Maria's Son.'
Sweetness fills the air around,
At the echo's answering sound;
But more sweet than echo's fall,
Is to me the Bridegroom's call.
Lord of all that's fair to see!
Come, reveal Thyself to me;
Let me, 'mid thy radiant light,
See thine unveil'd glories bright.
Let thy Deity profound
Me in heart and soul surround,
From my mind its idols chase,
Wean'd from joys of time and place.
Come, Lord Jesus! and dispel
This dark cloud in which I dwell;
Thus to me the power impart,
To behold Thee as Thou art.