Once more we come be­fore our God;
Once more His bless­ings ask:
O may not du­ty seem a load!
Nor wor­ship prove a task.

Father, Thy quick­en­ing Spir­it send
From Hea­ven in Je­sus’ name,
To make our wait­ing minds at­tend,
And put our souls in frame.

May we re­ceive the word we hear,
Each in an hon­est heart,
And keep the pre­cious trea­sure there,
And ne­ver with it part.

To seek Thee all our hearts dis­pose,
To each Thy bless­ings suit,
And let the seed Thy ser­vant sows
Produce a co­pi­ous fruit.

Bid the re­fresh­ing north wind wake,
Say to the south wind, Blow;
Let ev­ery plant the pow­er par­take,
And all the gar­den grow.

Revive the parched with hea­ven­ly show­ers,
The cold with warmth divine;
And as the be­ne­fit is ours,
Be all the glo­ry Thine.