O Thou! Who hast a tem­ple shrine
In ev­ery low­ly, con­trite soul,
Spirit of God! These lips of mine
Touch with a liv­ing al­tar-coal.

No cost­ly rites I need pre­pare,
No rich obla­tions need I bring;
The hum­ble heart, the fer­vent pray­er,
Are Thine ac­cept­ed of­fer­ing.

Guide to all truth, vouch­safe Thine aid,
Control my thoughts, di­rect my way;
May ho­ly fear of Thee per­vade
The var­ied du­ties of each day.

Ere I be­gin life’s com­mon task,
Hushed be its fe­ver­ish cares a while,
That calm re­pos­ing may I bask,
Eternal One! be­neath Thy smile.

Giver and source of peace di­vine,
Thy will sub­miss­ive would I wait;
Each pulse of hea­ven­ly life is Thine,
Descend, Thou pr­omised Pa­ra­clete!

Not as of old, in aw­ful pow­er,
With rush­ing wind and lam­bent fire,
But gent­ly, like the fall­ing show­er,
Great Spir­it, come! my soul in­spire!