1 Soft be the gently breathing notes,
That sing the Saviour's dying love;
Soft as the evening zephyr floats,
And soft as tuneful lyres above.
2 Pure as the breath of vernal skies,
So pure let our contrition be;
And purely let our sorrows rise
To him who bled upon the tree.
Source: The Voice of Praise: a collection of hymns for the use of the Methodist Church #184