Veni Sancte Spiritus (Winkworth)

Come, Holy Ghost! Thou fire divine!
From highest heaven on us down shine!
Comforter, be Thy comfort mine!

Come, Father of the poor, to earth;
Come with Thy gifts of precious worth;
Come, Light of all of mortal birth!

Thou rich in comfort! Ever blest
The heart where Thou art constant guest,
Who giv'st the heavy-laden rest.

Come Thou in whom our toil is sweet,
Our shadow in the noon-day heat,
Before whom mourning flieth fleet.

Bright Sun of Grace! Thy sunshine dart
On all who cry to Thee apart,
And fill with gladness every heart.

Whate'er without Thy aid is wrought,
Or skilful deed, or wisest thought,
God counts it vain and merely naught.

O cleanse us that we sin no more,
O'er parchèd souls Thy waters pour;
Heal the sad heart that acheth sore.

Thy will be ours in all our ways;
O melt the frozen with Thy rays;
Call home the soft in error's maze.

And grant us, Lord, who cry to Thee,
And hold the Faith in unity,
Thy precious gifts of charity.

That we may live in holiness,
And find in death our happiness,
And dwell with Thee in lasting bliss!