Hymns for Whit-Sunday, 7

Jesu, we hang upon the word
Our faithful souls have heard from Thee,
Be mindful of Thy promise, Lord,
Thy promise made to all, and me,
Thy followers who Thy steps pursue,
And dare believe that God is true.

Thou saidst, I will the Father pray,
And He THE PARACLETE shall give,
Shall give Him in your hearts to stay,
And never more His temples leave;
Myself will to My orphans come,
And make you My eternal home.

Come, then, dear Lord, Thyself reveal.
And let the promise now take place,
Be it according to Thy will,
According to Thy word of grace,
Thy sorrowful disciples cheer,
And send us down THE COMFORTER.

He visits now the troubled breast,
And oft relieves our sad complaint,
But soon we lose the transient Guest,
But soon we droop again, and faint,
Repeat the melancholy moan,
Our joy is fled, our comfort gone.

Hasten Him, Lord, into our heart,
Our sure inseparable Guide;
O might we meet and never part,
O might He in our heart abide,
And keep His house of praise and prayer,
And rest and reign for ever there.