tr., John Brownlie
Eternal Spirit, Lord of grace,
Descend, and in each waiting heart,
Find a preparéd resting-place,
And all Thy sevenfold gifts impart.
Our sins reveal, our awful blame,
Shew in the light Thy truth supplies;
And as we feel our guilty shame,
Lead to the Cross where Jesus dies.
To needy souls give rich supplies;
Let comfort calm the troubled mind;
Give seeing to the sightless eyes;
Heal all the sorrows of mankind.
Where doubts becloud, or fears distress,
Thy peace her healing balm apply;
Thy light, the night clouds that oppress,
Chase from our dark and threatening sky.
Our languid souls that lifeless live,
Revive anew, O Heavenly Breath;
The Holy inspiration give,
That saves the drooping soul from death.