1 Father, who art on high!
Weak is the melody
Of harp or song to reach Thy gracious ear,
Unless the heart be there,
Winging the words of prayer
With its own fervent faith, or suppliant tear.

2 O, let Thy spirit move
O'er those who bend in love,
Be Thou amidst them as a heavenly guest;
So shall our cry have power
To win from Thee a shower
Of healing gifts for every wounded breast.

3 O, let Thy breath once more
Within the soul restore
Thine own first image, Holiest and Most High!
As a clear lake is filled
With hues of heaven instilled,
Down to the depths of its calm purity.