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 vale of clay,
No angel-visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

Hast thou not bid me love thee, God and King -
All, all tine 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 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.

Teach me to love thee as thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame -
The baptism of the heaven-descended Dove,
My heart an altar, and thy love the flame.


George Croly (1780-1860)