O SPIRIT from the Eternal Deep,
Who camest once with wind and fire
To wake the world from sensual sleep,
And rouse the Church to strong desire,

Thy subtle influence sways the race
To virile thought and virtuous deed,
Thou hast no narrow resting-place
In commonwealth, or church, or creed;

Through many a crowd since Pentecost
Thy influence unperceived has crept,
On souls the church accounted lost
Thy clear, ecstatic flame has leapt.

Thou art the rich, luxuriant mould
Wherein our best deeds germinate,
Thine was the power of sculptors old
Their shapeliest statues to create,

By thee the vast cathedrals rose,
And heavenly music came to birth,
Thy rich perfection overflows
In all the beauty of the earth.

Thy voice is heard in every sigh
Of the soft-swaying forest trees,
Thine is the unjarring melody
That greets us in the summer breeze,

We hear thy heart-beats in the shade
And silence of the forest dim,
Thou art in all the flowers that braid
With blue and gold the river's brim;

The firmament thy mind reveals,
The unchanging orbs, the spaces wide,
The splendid crimson fire that steals
Into the west at eventide.

'Tis thou that from the eternal deep,
With noiseless call, with wind and fire,
When we are sunk in sensual sleep
Awakenest us to strong desire,

And on the hearth where once of old
Love burned, then flickered, then was lost,
Reviv'st amidst the ashes cold
The inspiring flame of Pentecost.