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Thy Word, O Lord, Like Gentle Dews

Thy Word, O Lord, Like Gentle Dews

Carl Garve
(1763-1841)
translated by Catherine Winkworth
(1827-1878)

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.
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 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.

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