| Come down, O love divine, seek Thou this soul of mine,
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| And visit it with Thine own ardor glowing.
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| O Comforter, draw near, within my heart appear,
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| And kindle it, Thy holy flame bestowing.
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| O let it freely burn, til earthly passions turn
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| To dust and ashes in its heat consuming;
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| And let Thy glorious light shine ever on my sight,
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| And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.
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| Let holy charity mine outward vesture be,
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| And lowliness become mine inner clothing;
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| True lowliness of heart, which takes the humbler part,
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| And o??? |
| er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
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| And so the yearning strong, with which the soul will long,
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| Shall far outpass the power of human telling;
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| For none can guess its grace, till he become the place
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| Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling. |