Soft be the gently breathing notes

That sing the Saviour’s dying love;

Soft as the evening zephyr floats,

Soft as the tuneful lyres above:

Soft as the morning dews descend,

While warbling birds exulting soar;

So soft to our almighty Friend

Be every sigh our bosoms pour.

2 Pure as the sun’s enlivening ray,

That scatters life and joy abroad;

Pure as the lucid orb of day,

That wide proclaims its Maker, God;

Pure as the breath of vernal skies,

So pure let our contrition be;

And purely let our sorrows rise

To him who bled upon the tree.