2Thy grace can send its breathings o'er
The spirit, dark and lost before;
And freshening all its depths, prepare
For truth divine to enter there!
3Till David touched his sacred lyre,
In silence lay the unbreathing wire;
But when he swept its chords along,
E'en angels stooped to hear the song.
4So sleeps the soul, till thou, O Lord,
Shall deign to touch its lifeless chord;