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.

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.

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.

And so the yearning strong
With which the soul will long
Shall far out pass the
Power of human telling;
For none can guess its grace,
Till he become the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit
Makes a dwelling.