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394 The Book of Praise.
Guide Thou my way, who art Thyself
My everlasting End, That every step, or swift, or slow,
Still to Thyself may tend !
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
One consubstantial Three, All highest praise, all humblest thanks,
Now and for ever be ! Amen.
John Austin. 1668.
There is a pure and tranquil wave, That rolls around the throne of love, Whose waters gladden as they lave The peaceful shores above.
While streams, which on that tide depend, Steal from those heavenly shores away, And on this desert world descend O'er weary lands to stray ;
The pilgrim faint, and nigh to sink Beneath his load of earthly woe, Refresh'd beside their verdant brink, Rejoices in their flow.
There, O my soul, do thou repair, And hover o'er the hallowed spring, To drink the crystal wave, and there To lave thy wearied wing !
There droop that wing, when far it flies From human care, and toil, and strife, And feed by those still streams, that rise Beneath the Tree of Life !