Hymns for Whit-Sunday, 17

Eternal Paraclete, descend,
Thou gift and promise of our Lord,
To every soul, till time shall end,
Thy succour, and Thyself afford,
Convince, convert us, and inspire;
Come, and baptize the world with fire.

Come, and display the power below,
And work Thy threefold work of grace
Compel mankind themselves to know,
Convince of sin the' apostate race,
Brood o'er the deep of nature's night,
And speak again, Let there be light.

Thou only know'st the fallen man,
Thou only canst his fall reveal,
The monster to himself explain,
And make his darkness visible,
Pierce all the folds of hellish art,
And rent the covering from his heart.

Come then, Thou soul-dividing Sword,
That dost from Jesu's mouth proceed,
The foes and haters of their Lord
Find out, o'erturn, and strike them dead,
Destroy the sin that keeps them blind,
And slay the pride of all mankind.

Spirit of Truth, in all begin
That work of Thine awakening power,
Convince the Christian world of sin,
Who Satan and not Christ adore;
Who Jesus slight, reject, disclaim,
And never knew His saving name.

Show them they never yet received
In truth whom they in words profess,
They never yet in Christ believed,
Or own'd the Lord their righteousness,
Still in the damning sin they lie,
As pleased in unbelief to die.

People and priest are doubly dead,
Are aliens from the life Divine,
Gross darkness o'er the earth is spread,
Till Thou into the conscience shine,
The powerful quick conviction dart,
And sound the unbelieving heart.

Oh would'st Thou now in all reveal
The righteous wrath of hostile heaven,
Because the blood they will not feel,
The blood that shows their sins forgiven;
They will not Him, their Lord, receive,
They will not come to Christ and live.