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The Book of Praise.
No sun by day shines there. Nor moon by silent night; Oh no ! these needless are ; The Lamb's the city's Light: O happy place! When shall I be, My God, with Thee, To see Thy face ?
There dwells my Lord, my King, Judged here unfit to live ; There angels to Him sing, And lowly homage give : O happy place ! When shall I be, My God, with Thee, To see Thy face ?
The Patriarchs of old There from their travels cease ; The Prophets there behold Their long'd-for Prince of Peace: O happy place ! When shall I be, My God, with Thee, To see Thy face ?
The Lamb's Apostles there I might with joy behold, The Harpers I might hear Harping on harps of gold ; O happy place ! When shall I be, My God, with Thee, To see Thy face ? |
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