1 Though I may speak with bravest fire,
And have the gift to all inspire,
And have not love; my words are vain;
As sounding brass, and hopeless gain.

2 Though I may give all I possess,
And striving so my love profess,
But not be giv'n by love within,
The profit soon turns strangely thin.

3 Come, Spirit, come, our hearts control,
Our spirits long to be made whole.
Let inward love guide every deed;
By this we worship, and are freed.