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.

Look how we grovel here below,
Fond of these trifling toys;
Our souls can neither fly nor go,
To reach eternal joys.

In vain we tune our formal songs,
In vain we strive to rise;
Hosannas languish on our tongues,
And our devotion dies.

Come, Holy Spirit, heav’nly Dove,
With all Thy quick’ning pow’rs,
Come, shed abroad a Savior’s love,
And that shall kindle ours.

Recordings 1