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Oh let me speak to Thee, dear God!
Of those old mercies past, O'er which new mercies day by day
Such lengthening shadows cast.
They bade me call Thee Father, Lord!
Sweet was the freedom deemed, And yet more like a mother's ways
Thy quiet mercies seemed.
At school Thou wert a kindly Face
Which I could almost see; But home and holyday appeared
Somehow more full of Thee.
I could not sleep unless Thy Hand
Were underneath my head, That I might kiss it, if I lay
Wakeful upon my bed.
And quite alone I never felt, — I knew that Thou wert near,
A silence tingling in the room, A strangely pleasant fear.
And to home-Sundays long since past How fondly memory clings;
For then my mother told of Thee Such sweet, such wondrous things.