Come down, O love divine,
Seek thou this soul of mine,
And visit it with thy own ardour glowing,
O Comforter, draw near
within my heart appear
And kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

O let it freely bun,
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.

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 outpass the pow’r of human telling;
for none can guess its grace,
Till he become the place,
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes his dwelling.