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
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
Where in the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.