Come, Thou de­sire of all Thy saints!
Our hum­ble strains at­tend,
While with our prais­es and com­plaints,
Low at Thy feet we bend.

When we Thy won­drous glo­ries hear,
And all Thy suf­fer­ings trace,
What sweet­ly aw­ful scenes ap­pear!
What rich un­bound­ed grace.

How should our songs, like those ab­ove,
With warm de­vo­tion rise!
How should our souls, on wings of love,
Mount up­ward to the skies!

But ah! the song how cold it flows!
How lang­uid our de­sire!
How faint the sacr­ed pass­ion glows,
’Till Thou the heart in­spire!

Come Lord! Thy love alone can raise
In us the heav’n­ly flame;
Then shall our lips re­sound Thy praise
Our hearts adore Thy name.

Dear Sav­ior, let Thy glo­ry shine,
And fill Thy dwell­ings here,
Till life, and love, and joy di­vine
A heav’n on earth ap­pear.

Then shall our hearts en­rap­tured say,
Come, great Re­deem­er! come,
And bring the bright, the glo­ri­ous day,
That calls Thy child­ren home.