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| THY thoughts are here, my God, | |
| Expressed in words divine, | |
| The utterance of heavenly lips | |
| In every sacred line. | |
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| Across the ages they | 5 |
| Have reached us from afar, | |
| Than the bright gold more golden they, | |
| Purer than purest star. | |
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| More durable they stand | |
| Than the eternal hills; | 10 |
| Far sweeter and more musical | |
| Than music of earth’s rills. | |
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| Fairer in their fair hues | |
| Than the fresh flowers of earth, | |
| More fragrant than the fragrant climes | 15 |
| Where odors have their birth. | |
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| Each word of thine a gem | |
| From the celestial mines, | |
| A sunbeam from that holy heaven | |
| Where holy sunlight shines. | 20 |
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| Thine, thine, this book, though given | |
| In man’s poor human speech, | |
| Telling of things unseen, unheard, | |
| Beyond all human reach. | |
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| No strength it craves or needs | 25 |
| From this world’s wisdom vain; | |
| No filling up from human wells, | |
| Or sublunary rain. | |
| |
| No light from sons of time, | |
| Nor brilliance from its gold; | 30 |
| It sparkles with its own glad light, | |
| As in the ages old. | |
| |
| A thousand hammers keen, | |
| With fiery force and strain, | |
| Brought down on it in rage and hate, | 35 |
| Have struck this gem in vain. | |
| |
| Against this sea-swept rock | |
| Ten thousand storms their will | |
| Of foam and rage have wildly spent; | |
| It lifts its calm face still. | 40 |
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| It standeth and will stand, | |
| Without or change or age, | |
| The word of majesty and light, | |
| The church’s heritage. | |
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