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.