The moon has but a borrowed light,

The moon has but a borrowed light,
A faint and feeble ray;
She owes her beauty to the night,
And hides herself by day.

No cheering warmth her beam conveys,
Though pleasing to behold;
We might upon her brightness gaze
Till we were starved with cold.

Just such is all the light to man
Which reason can impart;
It cannot show one object plain,
Nor warm the frozen heart.

Thus moonlight views of truths divine
To many fatal prove;
For what avail in gifts to shine,
Without a spark of love?

The gospel, like the sun at noon,
Affords a glorious light;
Then fallen reason's boasted moon
Appears no longer bright.

And grace, not light alone, bestows,
But adds a quick'ing pow'r;
The desert blossoms like the rose,
And sin prevails no more.