CXLV WHIT SUNDAY

Fountain of Sweets! Eternal Dove!

Which leav'st Thy glorious perch above,

And hovering down, vouchsafest thus

To make Thy nest below with Us.

Soft as Thy softest feathers, may

We find Thy Love to us to-day;

And in the shelter of Thy wing

Obtain Thy leave and grace to sing.