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280 The Book of Praise,
Through the throng His gentle ear Shall my tuneless accents hear ; From on high doth He impart Secret comfort to my heart.
He in these serenest hours Guides my intellectual powers, And His Spirit doth diffuse, Sweeter far than midnight dews,
Lifting all my thoughts above On the wings of faith and love : Blest alternative to me, Thus to sleep, or wake with Thee !
What if death my sleep invade ? Should I be of death afraid ? Whilst encircled by Thine arm, Death may strike, but cannot harm.
What if beams of opening day Shine around my breathless clay ? Brighter visions from on high Shall regale my mental eye.
Tender friends awhile may mourn Me from their embraces torn ; Dearer, better friends I have In the realms beyond the grave.
See the guardian angels nigh Wait to waft my soul on high ! See the golden gates displayed ! See the crown to grace my head!