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God the Creator, tg
XIX.
Nil laudibus nostris eges.
Our praise Thou need'st not; but Thy love,
Our Father and our Friend, Would have our prayers thus soar above*
In blessings to descend*
Thy secret judgments depths profound
Still sings the silent night; The day upon his golden round
Thy pity infinite.
The soul lost in astonishment
Would speechless wonder fill; But, in the ravish'd bosom pent,
Love cannot all be still.
Feeble and faint, she fain would tell
Of our great Father's love, Tempering the ills that with us dwell,
And pledging good above.
Thither would our best thoughts aspire.
But chains on us abide ; O quicken Thou our faint desire,
And to Thy presence guide !
Isaac Williams. 183$
XX.
Let all the world in every corner sing My God and King ! The heavens are not too high ; His praise may thither fly :
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