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The Book of Praise.
V.
HOLY COMMUNION. CCXCII.
With all the powers my poor soul hath Of humble love, and loyal faith, I come, dear Lord, to worship Thee, Whom too much love bowed low for me.
Down, busy sense ; discourses die ; And all adore faith's mystery ! Faith is my skill, faith can believe As fast as love new laws shall give.
Faith is my eye, faith strength affords To keep pace with those gracious words ; And words more sure, more sweet than they, Love could not think, Truth could not say.
O dear memorial of that Death Which still survives, and gives us breath ! Live ever, Bread of Life, and be My food, my joy, my all to me !
Come, glorious Lord ! my hopes increase. And mix my portion with Thy peace! Come, and for ever dwell in me That I may only live to Thee !
Come, hidden life, and that long day For which I languish, come away ! When this dry soul those eyes shall see, And drink the unseal'd Source of Thee; |
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