John Dryden

    Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
    Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure,
    Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
    A large provision for so short a race;
    More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date,
    Too early fitted for a better state;
    But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
    He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way.

    CREATOR SPIRIT, by whose aid
    The world's foundations first were laid,
    Come, visit every pious mind;
    Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
    From sin and sorrow set us free,
    And make thy temples worthy thee.

        O source of uncreated light,
    The Father's promised Paraclete!
    Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
    Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
    Come, and thy sacred unction bring
    To sanctify us, while we sing!

        Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
    Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
    Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
    Whose power does heaven and earth command:
    Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
    Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
    And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!<...