 | The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 |  |
122
Hymn for Whitsunday
1
Thou Holy Ghost; mysterious power!To thee we fly for aid;
Teach us, on wings of Faith to soar,
Our inmost hearts purvey'd.
2
O still, as erst Thou didst inspire,The chosen of the Lord,
When first they felt the Sacred fire,
Instruct me in Thy Word.
3
With wonder, heard the mingled throng!They saw and were amazed!
The rushing wind, the cloven tongues—
They trembled as they gazed.
4
But what astonishment was theirs!Who can their joy unfold!
While each, in his own language hears
Th' important tidings told.
5
This wond'rous work, all clement power,Didst then for man ordain!
123
Might hold their hated reign.
6
Therefore, our gratitude to Thee,Breaks forth in hymns of joy;
And thus, thro' all eternity,
May we our tongues employ.
| The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | |