Creator Spir­it, by whose aid
The world’s foun­da­tions first were laid,
Come, vi­sit ev­ery wait­ing mind;
Come, pour Thy joys on hu­man kind;
From sin, and sor­row set us free;
And make Thy tem­ples wor­thy Thee.

O source of un­cre­at­ed light,
The Fa­ther’s pro­mised Pa­ra­clete!
Thrice ho­ly fount, thrice ho­ly fire,
Our hearts with heav’n­ly love in­spire;
Come, and Thy sac­red unc­tion bring
To sanc­ti­fy us while we sing!

Plenteous of grace, des­cend from high,
Thou strength of His al­migh­ty hand,
Whose pow­er does Heav’n and earth com­mand:
Proceeding Spir­it, our de­fense,
Who dost the gift of tongues dis­pense,
And crown Thy gift with elo­quence!

Refine and purge our earth­ly parts;
But, oh, in­flame and fire our hearts!
Our frail­ties help, our vice con­trol;
Submit the sens­es to the soul;
And when re­bel­lious they are grown,
Then, lay Thy hand, and hold them down.

Create all new; our wills con­trol,
Subdue the re­bel in our soul;
Make us eter­nal truths re­ceive,
And prac­tice all that we be­lieve;
Give us Thy­self, that we may see
The Fa­ther and the Son by Thee.

Immortal hon­or, end­less fame,
Attend th’al­migh­ty Fa­ther’s name:
The Sav­ior Son be glo­ri­fied,
Who for lost man’s re­demp­tion died:
And eq­ual ado­ra­tion be,
Eternal Pa­ra­clete, to Thee.