Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove, With all Thy quick'ning pow'rs, Kindle a flame of sacred love In these cold hearts of ours. Look how we grovel here below, Fond of these trifling 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. Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove, With all Thy quick'ning pow'rs, Come, shed abroad a Saviour's love, And that shall kindle ours.