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Poem	Creator Spirit, by whose aid The world's foundations first were laid, Come, visit ev'ry pious mind; Come, pour thy joys on human kind; From sin, and sorrow set us free; And make thy temples worthy Thee. O, Source of uncreated Light, The Father's promis'd Paraclete! Thrice Holy Fount, thrice Holy Fire, Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire; Come, and thy Sacred Unction bring To sanctify us, while we sing! Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Rich in thy sev'n-fold energy! Thou strength of his Almighty Hand, Whose pow'r does heav'n and earth command: Proceeding Spirit, our Defence, Who do'st the gift of tongues dispence, And crown'st thy gift with eloquence! Refine and purge our earthly parts; But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts! Our frailties help, our vice control; Submit the senses to the soul; And when rebellious they are grown, Then, lay thy hand, and hold 'em down. Chase from our minds th' Infernal Foe; And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect, and guide us in the way. Make us Eternal Truths receive, And practise, all that we believe: Give us thy self, that we may see The Father and the Son, by thee. Immortal honour, endless fame, Attend th' Almighty Father's name: The Saviour Son be glorified, Who for lost Man's redemption died: And equal adoration be, Eternal Paraclete, to thee.
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