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
Til 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 mine 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 outpass the power of human telling
For none can guess it's grace
Til he become the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes his dwelling.