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
O 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 my inner clothing;
True lowliness of heart
Which takes the humbler part,
And o'er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
4
And so the yearning strong,
With which the soul will long,
Shall far outpass the power of human telling;
For none can guess its grace,
Till he become the place
Where in the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.
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