O Holy Ghost

O Holy Ghost, whose temple I

Am, but of mud walls, and condensèd dust,

And being sacrilegiously

Half wasted with youth's fires of pride and lust,

Must with new storms be weather-beat,

Double in my heart Thy flame,

Which let devout sad tears intend, and let --

Though this glass lanthorn, flesh, do suffer maim --

Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same.