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The Book of Praise.
Hear, gracious God ! my humble moan ;
To Thee I breathe my sighs : When will the mournful night be gone,
And when my joys arise ?
My God ! Oh ! could I make the claim,
My Father and my Friend ! And call Thee mine, by every name
On which Thy saints depend ;
By every name of power and love
I would Thy grace entreat; Nor should my humble hopes remove,
Nor leave Thy sacred seat.
Yet, though my soul in darkness mourns,
Thy word is all my stay ; Here I would rest till light returns,
Thy Presence makes my day.
Speak, Lord, and bid celestial peace
Relieve my aching heart! O smile, and bid my sorrows cease,
And all the gloom depart!
Then shall my drooping spirit rise,
And bless Thy healing rays, And change these deep complaining sighs
For songs of sacred praise !
Anne Steele. 1760.