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Uxbridge. L. M.


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L. Mason.

1. Come, sacred Spirit, from above,
And fill the coldest heart with love:
Oh, turn to flesh the flinty stone,
And let thy sovereign power be known.

2. Speak thou — and from the haughtiest eyes
Shall floods of contrite sorrow rise;
While all their glowing souls are borne
To seek that grace which now they scorn.

3. Oh, let a holy flock await,
In crowds around thy temple gate!
Each pressing on with zeal to be
A living sacrifice to thee.