O Holy Spirit, breathe upon my soul,
Inspire these lines to make Thy glories whole!
Open our eyes to see, our hearts to burn,
As once Thou didst when ancient prophets learned.

In countless forms Thy living Word appears,
More rich than treasures, brighter than the spheres.
First, living Bread from heaven’s table sent,
When man by earthly food alone is spent.
“Man shall not live by bread alone,” He cried,
But by each word from God’s own mouth supplied.
Thus souls are nourished where all else would fail,
And life eternal springs where death prevailed.

More precious Gold than Ophir’s hidden store,
Refined seven times, its purity evermore.
Like Silver tested in the furnace flame,
Its truth endures, untainted, without blame.
A hidden Treasure buried in the field,
For which the finder sells all else to yield;
With joy he purchases that matchless gain,
And heaven’s riches flood his heart again.

As Fire it burns with purifying blaze,
Consuming dross, yet kindling holy praise.
A Hammer mighty, breaking stubborn stone,
Shattering hearts where pride has claimed its throne.
Both fire and hammer from one source proceed—
The Word that wounds, yet heals the soul in need:
It crushes sin, then lights the inward flame—
O wondrous work of mercy and of claim!

Sweet Honey flows from out the Rock divine,
Sweeter than any comb where bees entwine.
No earthly sweetness matches such delight;
It cheers the weary, turns the dark to light.
A Lamp it shines to guide the pilgrim’s way,
A steady gleam through night’s most perilous fray;
“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet,” we sing,
A Light unto my path—O Light of kings!

Strong Meat it offers those mature in grace,
Who press beyond the cradle to the race.
Yet Milk it gives the newborn child of God,
Pure, gentle, growing faith where once we trod.
A Mirror true, no flattering lie it shows,
Revealing heart and conscience as it glows;
The one who looks and forgets his true face
Remains unchanged; the doer finds God’s grace.

As Medicine it heals the broken frame,
Life to the seeker, health to all who claim;
Its balm restores where sickness held its reign,
And makes the wounded spirit whole again.

As Seed it falls on every kind of ground—
By wayside, rocks, or thorns where weeds abound—
Yet in the good soil, fertile, deep, and true,
It springs to life, a hundred-fold anew.
Like Rain and Snow from heaven’s heights it falls,
Descending soft to answer heaven’s calls;
It waters earth, makes deserts bloom and sing,
Accomplishes God’s will in everything—
No empty return, but harvest rich and vast,
The Word that crowns the future and the past!

A Sword of the Spirit, two-edged, keen, and bright,
It pierces soul and spirit, wrong from right;
In warfare fierce against the powers of night,
The saint wields it—and claims the victor’s right!

And living Water, crystal, pure, and free,
It washes clean where guilt once stained the knee.
The Word as water sanctifies the bride,
No spot, no wrinkle left when once applied.

Thus every form Thy precious Word assumes:
Bread, gold, and silver; treasure, fire, and blooms
Of honey; lamp and light, and hammer’s claim;
Meat, milk, and mirror, medicine’s healing name;
Seed, rain, and snow, sword, water—rich and vast.
All meet in Thee—the soul redeemed at last.

O seeking soul, forsake the world’s poor gain!
Embrace this Word and never thirst again.
Let every image—feed, refine, reveal,
Heal, plant, and cleanse—Thy heart and mind anneal,
Till Christ alone is formed in thee complete,
And endless glory crowns the Word we meet!