Thou lovely source of true delight,
Whom I unseen adore,
Unveil thy beauties to my sight,
That I may love thee more.

Thy glory o’er creation shines;
But in thy sacred word,
I read in fairer, brighter lines,
My bleeding, dying Lord.

’Tis here, whene’er my comforts droop,
And sins and sorrows rise,
Thy love, with cheerful beams of hope
My fainting heart supplies.

But ah, too soon, the pleasing scene
Is clouded o’er with pain;
My gloomy fears rise dark between,
And I again complain

Jesus! my Lord, my life, my light,
Oh, come with blissful ray;
Break radiant through the shades of night,
And chase my fears away.

Then shall my soul with rapture trace
The wonders of thy love;
But the full glories of thy face
Are only known above.

Anne Steele [1717–1778], The Works Volume I, (Boston 1808), pgs 159–160