The signs which God to Gi­de­on gave,
His ho­ly so­ver­eign­ty made known;
That He alone has pow­er to save,
And claims the glo­ry as His own.

The dew which first the fleece had filled,
When all the earth was dry around;
Was from it af­ter­wards with­held,
And on­ly fell upon the ground.

To Is­ra­el thus the hea­ven­ly dew
Of sav­ing truth was long re­strained;
Of which the Gen­tiles no­thing knew,
But dry and de­so­late re­mained.

But now the Gen­tiles have re­ceived
The bal­my dew of Gos­pel peace;
And Is­ra­el, who His Spir­it grieved,
Is left a dry and emp­ty fleece.

This dew still falls at His com­mand,
To keep His chos­en plants alive;
They shall, tho’ in a thirs­ty land,
Like wil­lows by the wa­ters thrive.

But chief­ly when His peo­ple meet,
To hear His word and seek His face;
The gen­tle dew, with in­flu­ence sweet,
Descends and nour­ish­es their grace.

But ah! what num­bers still are dead,
Tho’ un­der means of grace they lie!
The dew still fall­ing round their head,
And yet their heart un­touched and dry.

Dear Sav­ior, hear us when we call,
To wrest­ling pray­er an an­swer give;
Pour down Thy dew up­on us all,
That all may feel, and all may live.