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Serve the God of love and truth

Thou art the way, and he who sighs

There is a world we have not seen

"Tis sweet to muse upon the skill displayed
There are deep voices all around

To Zion's hill the Magi came

The cool and fragrant hour of morn

The path of sorrow and that path alone
There's nothing bright above, below
The fly around the candle wheels

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The judge ascended to the judgment-seat
The bird that soars on highest wing

The God of nature and of grace

The hour of my departure's come

They grew in beauty side by side

The sea, the sea, the glorious sea

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Time on swift wing pursues his rapid course

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They dread no more the storm that lowers
There is one only path to mortals given
'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours
Thrice happy man, whose soul is staid

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The Saviour calls-arising from the ground
There is a calm the poor in spirit know

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Thou soft flowing Kedron

'Twas when the seas with angry roar

Thou to whom all power is given

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The planets of each system represent
The insect that with puny wing

The kindred links of life are bright
The light of Sabbath eve

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There is a region lovelier far

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Though sharp yet sweet my leaves declare

The ploughing of the sword

The autumn wind is moaning low

Though earth has full many a beautiful spot

Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside

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There is a stream which issues forth
Triumphant arch that fillst the sky

This stone shall crumbling pass away

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'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise
'Tis not the painter's power to please

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The gloom of the night adds a charm
There is no flock, however watched and tended

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Whose is the gold that glitters in the mine?
Whatever passes as a cloud between

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What a varying scene is a village church-yard

Who is this at dawn of day

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Why, my soul, this trembling fear?
We cannot see that gracious Lord
When at thy footstool. Lord, I bend
Within the church a fountain springs
What if the little rain should say
When brighter suns and milder skies
Welcome, sweet wanderer, back again

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W. F. Pratt, Printer, Market-Place, Stokesley.

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