1 Come down, O Love divine;
Seek thou this soul of mine
And visit it with thine own ardor glowing;
O Comforter, draw near;
Within my heart appear
And kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

2 Oh, let it freely burn,
Till earthly passions turn
To dust and ashes in its heat consuming;
And let thy glorious light
Shine ever on my sight,
And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

3 Let holy charity
Mine outward vesture be,
And lowliness become mine inner clothing -
True lowliness of heart,
Which takes the humbler part,
And o'er its own short-comings weeps with loathing.

4 And so the yearning strong,
With which the soul will long,
Shall far outpass the pow'r of human telling;
No soul can guess his grace
Till it become the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes his dwelling.