Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove 
			With thy all-quickening powers; 
			Kindle a flame of sacred love 
			In these cold hearts of ours. 

			Look how we grovel here below, 
			Fond of these thrifling toys; 
			Our souls can neither fly nor go, 
			To reach eternal joys. 

			In vain we tune our formal songs, 
			In vain we strive to rise; 
			Hosannas languish on our tongues,  
			And our devotion dies. 

			Dear Lord, and shall we ever live 
			At this poor dying rate? 
			Our love so faint, so cold to thee, 
			And thine to us so great? 

			Come Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, 
			With thy all-quickening powers; 
			Come shed abroad a Saviour's love, 
			And that shall kindle ours. 

									Isaac Watts