1. O fiery Spirit, praise to you,

who on the tympana and lyre

work and play!

2. By you the human mind is set ablaze,

the tabernacle of its soul

contains its strength.

3. So mounts the will

and grants the soul to taste—

desire is its lamp.

4. In sweetest sound the intellect upon you calls,

a dwelling-place prepares for you,

with reason sweating in the golden labor.

5. Yet in your hand you always hold the sword

to cut away

the deadly apple offering

its blackened heart—a homicide,

6. when once that cloud reached out

to overshade the will and its desires,

in which the soul takes flight and circles round about.

7. But of the will and of desire the mind serves as the bond.

8. For when the spirit rears itself

to seek to see the evil eye, the gaping maw of wickedness,

then swiftly in your fire do you consume it, when you will.

9. But when the reason strays and, working evil things,

falls flat and low,

then as you will, you draw, constrain, and bring it back

through floods of trials and ordeals.

10. When evil yet its sword against you

draws, you break its blade into its heart—

the thrust against the fallen angel first

you made when into Hell you cast

his tower of pride.

11. Another tower you raised up in its place,

amongst the taxmen and the sinners—

to you their sins they do confess by their own works and deeds.

12. So ev’ry creature, as it takes

its life from you, returns to you its praise,

for you are that most precious balm

for broken, fetid wounds,

transforming them into

most precious gems.

13. Now deign to gather us, to draw us all to you,

and to direct us on the upright course.

Amen.