Hymns for Whit-Sunday, 26

Come, Holy celestial Dove,
To visit a sorrowful breast,
My burden of guilt to remove,
And bring me assurance and rest:
Thou only hast power to relieve
A sinner o'erwhelm'd with his load,
The sense of acceptance to give,
And sprinkle his heart with the blood.

With me if of old Thou hast strove,
And strangely withheld from my sin,
And tried by the lure of Thy love
My worthless affections to win;
The work of Thy mercy revive,
Thine uttermost mercy exert,
And kindly continue to strive,
And hold, till I yield Thee, my heart.

Thy call if I ever have known,
And sigh'd from myself to get free,
And groan'd the unspeakable groan,
And long'd to be happy in Thee;
Fulfil the imperfect desire,
Thy peace to my conscience reveal,
The sense of Thy favour inspire,
And give me my pardon to feel,

If, when I had put Thee to grief,
And madly to folly return'd,
Thy pity hath been my relief,
And lifted me up as I mourn'd;
Most pitiful Spirit of Grace,
Relieve me again, and restore,
My spirit in holiness raise,
To fall, and to suffer no more.

If now I lament after God,
And gasp for a drop of Thy love,
If Jesus hath bought Thee with blood,
For me to receive from above;
Come, heavenly Comforter, come,
True Witness of mercy Divine,
And make me Thy permanent home,
And seal me eternally Thine.