A glo­ry gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun;
It gives a light to every age;
It gives, but borrows none.

The Spi­rit breathes upon the Word
And brings the truth to sight;
Precepts and promises afford
A sanctifying light.

The hand that gave it still supplies
The gracious light and heat;
His truths upon the nations rise;
They rise, but ne­ver set.

Let ev­er­last­ing thanks be Thine
For such a bright display.
As makes a world of darkness shine
With beams of heavenly day.

My soul rejoices to pursue
The steps of Him I love,
Till glo­ry breaks upon my view
In brighter worlds above.