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116

Whit Sunday

I will pray the Father, and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you for ever, even the Spirit of Truth.

From the Gospel. [Jn. 14:16-17]

6,6,8,6,6,8,8,8,8

Schmükt das Fest mit Maien

Schmolck. 1715.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

Come, deck our feast today

With flowers and wreaths of May,

And bring an offering pure and sweet;

The Spirit of all grace

Makes earth His dwelling-place,

Prepare your hearts your Lord to meet;

Receive Him, and He shall outpour

Such light, all hearts with joy run o'er,

And sound of tears is heard no more.

Thou harbinger of peace,

Who makest sorrows cease,

Wisdom in word and deed is Thine;

Strong hand of God, Thy seal

The loved of Jesus feel;

Pure light, o'er all our pathway shine!

Give vigorous life and healthy powers,

O let Thy sevenfold gifts be ours,

Refresh us with Thy gracious showers!

117

O touch our tongues with flame,

When speaking Jesu's name!

And lead us up the heavenward road.

Give us the power to pray,

Teach us what words to say,

Whene'er we come before our God.

O Highest Good, our spirits cheer,

When raging foes are strong and near,

Give us brave hearts undimmed by fear.

O golden rain from heaven!

Thy precious dews be given

To bless the churches' barren field!

And let Thy waters flow,

Where'er the sowers sow,

The seed of truth, that it may yield

A hundred-fold its living fruit,

O'er all the land may take deep root,

And mighty branches heavenward shoot.

Thou fiery glow of Love!

Let us Thy ardours prove,

Consume our hearts with quenchless fire!

Come, O Thou trackless Wind!

Breathe gently o'er our mind!

Nor let the flesh to rule aspire;

Help us our free-born right to take,

The heavy yoke of sin to break,

And all her tempting paths forsake.

118

Be it Thine to stir our will;

Our good intents fulfil;

Be with us when we go and come;

Deep in our spirits dwell,

And make their inmost cell

Thy temple pure, Thy holy home!

Teach us to know our Lord, that we

May call His Father ours through Thee,

Thou Pledge of glories yet to be!

Oh make our crosses sweet,

And let Thy sunshine greet

Our longing eyes in clouded hours!

Wing Thou our upward flight

Toward yonder mountain bright,

Girded about with Zion's golden towers!

Forsake us not when our last foe

Puts forth his stength to lay us low,

Then joyful victory bestow!

Let us, while here we dwell,

This one thought ponder well,

That in God's likeness we are made.

As o'er a fruitful land

Rich harvests waving stand,

We, serving Him, bear fruits that never fade,

Till Thou in whom all comfort lies,

Lift us to fields above the skies,

And bid us bloom in Paradise!

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