Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove,

With all thy quick'ning powers;

Kindle a flame of sacred love

In these cold hearts of ours.

Look how we grovel here below,

Fond of these trifling toys;

Our souls can neither fly nor go

To reach eternal joys.

In vain we tune our formal songs,

In vain we strive to rise;

Hosannahs languish on our tongues,

And our devotion dies.

Dear Lord! and shall we ever lie

At this poor dying rate?

Our love so faint, so cold to thee,

And thine to us so great?

Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove,

With all thy quick'ning powers

Come, shed abroad a Savior's love,

And that shall kindle ours.