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The Book of Praise.
By Thy meekly-bowed head ;
By Thy gentle spirit, fled
To the mansions of the dead ;
By the wound, whence issuing fiow'd
Water mingled with Thy blood ;
By Thy breathless body, laid
In the rock's sepulchral shade,
Where man ne'er before reposed,
Straightly watch'd, securely closed ;
Lord, Thy presence let me see,
Manifest Thyself to me!
Lord of Glory, God most high, Man exalted to the sky, God and man, to Thee I cry ! With Thy love my bosom fill, Prompt me to perform Thy will; Grant me, what Thou bidd'st, to do ; What Thou proffer'st to pursue : So may He, the Sire above, Guard me with a Parent's love ! So may He, the Spirit blest, Whisper comfort, hope, and rest! So mayst Thou, my Saviour, come, Make this fro ward heart Thy home, And manifest Thyself to me In the Triune Deity !
Bishop Richard Mant. 1828.
Jesu ! behold, the Wise from far, Led to Thy cradle by a star,
Bring gifts to Thee, their God and King ! O guide us by Thy light, that we The way may find, and still to Thee
Our hearts, our all, for tribute bring !