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, enlight, make bright our hearts. Come, of consolers the best, Of the soul the sweetest guest, Sweet delight refreshing rest: Thou in labor rest most sweet, Thou art coolness from the heat, Solace in adversity. Blessed light, most pure thou art, Shine within the inmost breast Of Thy faithful company. Without your will, man hath nought; Nothing here in sight and thought Nothing left that won't do harm. Bathe away our filfth and grime. Thirsting souls refreshed by thine, Made healthy from all that ills. That which is stiff, make it give, That which is cold, make it live, That that errs, make straight within. Comes from Thy divinity. What is soiled, make Thou pure; What is wounded, work its cure; What is parched, 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. Grant to those whose faith is blessed, Belief in You, they confess, Thy sev'nfold gifts descend. Grant us virtue, our reward, Grant to us salvation Lord, Grant us joys that never end. Amen. Alleluia.