1 Come, Holy Spirit, Heav'nly Dove,
With all thy quick'ning Pow'rs,
Kindle a Flame of sacred Love
In these cold Hearts of ours.

2 Look, how we grovel here below,
Fond of these trifling Toys;
Our Souls can neither fly nor go,
To reach eternal Joys.

3 In vain we tune our formal Songs,
In vain we strive to rise;
Hosannas languish on our Tongues,
And our Devotion dies.

4 Dear Lord! and shall we ever lie
At this poor dying Rate;
Our Love so faint, so cold to thee?
And thine to us so great?

4 Come, Holy Spirit, Heav'nly Dove,
With all thy quick'ning Pow'rs,
Come, shed abroad a Saviour's Love,
And that shall kindle ours.