Come, Thou Holy Paraclete

Come, Thou holy Paraclete,

And from Thy celestial seat

Send Thy light and brilliancy:

Father of the poor, draw near;

Giver of all gifts, be here;

Come, the soul's true radiancy.

Come, of comforters the best,

Of the soul the sweetest guest,

Come in toil refreshingly:

Thou in labor rest most sweet,

Thou art shadow from the heat,

Comfort in adversity.

O Thou Light, most pure and blest,

Shine within the inmost breast

Of Thy faithful company.

Where Thou art not, man hath naught;

Every holy deed and thought

Comes from Thy divinity.

What is soilèd, make Thou pure;

What is wounded, work its cure;

What is parchèd, fructify;

What is rigid, gently bend;

What is frozen, warmly tend;

Strengthen what goes erringly.

Fill Thy faithful, who confide

In Thy power to guard and guide,

With Thy sevenfold mystery.

Here Thy grace and virtue send:

Grant salvation to the end,

And in Heav'n felicity.