1 Spirit of God descend upon my heart;
Wean it from earth, thro' all its pulses move;
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art,
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

2 I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

3 Teach me to feel that Thou are always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear,
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;
Teach me the patience of unceasing prayer.

4 Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,--
One holy passion filling all my frame:
The kindling of the Heaven-descended Dove,
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame.

Amen.