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O ! sweet abode of peace and love,
Where pilgrims freed from toil are blest!
Had I the pinions of the dove, I'd fly to thee, and be at rest!
Thomas Kelly. 1806.—1836.
CCCLXV.
Psalm CXXXVII.
Far from my heavenly home, Far from my Father's breast, Fainting I cry, " Blest Spirit! come And speed me to my rest!"
Upon the willows long My harp has silent hung: How should I sing a cheerful song Till Thou inspire my tongue ?
My spirit homeward turns, And fain would thither flee ; My heart, O Zion, droops and yearns, When I remember thee.
To thee, to thee I press, A dark and toilsome road : When shall I pass the wilderness And reach the saints' abode ?
God of my life, be near ! On Thee my hopes I cast: O guide me through the desert here, And bring me home at last!
Henry Fran els Lyle. 1834. |
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