Father, who art on high!

Weak is the melody

Of harp or song to reach Thy gracious ear,

Unless the heart be there,

Winging the words of prayer

With its own fervent faith, or suppliant tear.

O, let Thy spirit move

O’er those who bend in love,

Be Thou amidst them as a heavenly guest;

So shall our cry have power

To win from Thee a shower

Of healing gifts for every wounded breast.

O, let Thy breath once more

Within the soul restore

Thine own first image, Holiest and Most High!

As a clear lake is filled

With hues of heaven instilled,

Down to the depths of its calm purity.