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The Veni Sancte.
131
4.
Come Thou in whom our toil is ſweet,
Our ſhadow in the noon-day heat,
Before whom mourning flieth fleet.
5.
Bright Sun of Grace! Thy ſunſhine dart
On all who cry to Thee apart,
And fill with gladneſs every heart.
6.
Whate'er without Thy aid is wrought,
Or ſkilful deed, or wiſeft thought,
God counts it vain and merely naught.
7.
O cleanſe us that we ſin no more,
O'er parchèd ſouls Thy waters pour;
Heal the ſad heart that acheth ſore.
