Come to our poor na­ture’s night,
With Thy bless­èd in­ward light,
Holy Ghost, the In­fi­nite,
Comforter di­vine.

We are sin­ful—cleanse us, Lord;
Sick and faint—Thy strength af­ford;
Lost—un­til by Thee re­stored,
Comforter di­vine.

Orphans are our souls, and poor;
Give us from Thy hea­ven­ly store
Faith, love, joy for ev­er­more,
Comforter di­vine.

Like the dew Thy peace dis­till;
Guide, sub­due our way­ward will,
Things of Christ un­fold­ing still,
Comforter di­vine.

Gentle, aw­ful, ho­ly Guest,
Make Thy tem­ple in each breast;
There Thy pre­sence be con­fessed,
Comforter di­vine.

With us, for us, in­ter­cede,
And, with voice­less groan­ings, plead
Our un­ut­ter­able need,
Comforter di­vine.

In us Ab­ba, Fa­ther! cry,
Earnest of the bliss on high,
Seal of im­mor­tal­ity,
Comforter di­vine.

Search for us the depths of God;
Upwards by the star­ry road,
Bear us to Thy high abode,
Comforter di­vine.