Spirit of God, des­cend up­on my heart;
Wean it from earth; through all its puls­es move;
Stoop to my weak­ness, migh­ty as Thou art;
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no pro­phet ec­sta­sies,
No sud­den rend­ing of the veil of clay,
No an­gel vi­sit­ant, no op­en­ing skies;
But take the dim­ness of my soul away.

Teach me to feel that Thou art al­ways nigh;
Teach me the strug­gles of the soul to bear.
To check the ris­ing doubt, the re­bel sigh,
Teach me the pa­tience of un­an­swered pray­er.

Hast Thou not bid me love Thee, God and King?
All, all Thine own, soul, heart and strength and mind.
I see Thy cross; there teach my heart to cling:
O let me seek Thee, and O let me find!

Teach me to love Thee as Thine an­gels love,
One ho­ly pas­sion fill­ing all my frame;
The kind­ling of the heav­en des­cend­ed Dove,
My heart an al­tar, and Thy love the flame.