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O Lord, in me there lieth nought
But to Thy search revealed lies ;
For when I sit
Thou markest it,
No less Thou notest when I rise ;
Yea, closest closet of my thought
Hath open windows to Thine eyes.
Thou walkest with me when I walk,
When to my bed for rest I go,
I find Thee there
And everywhere ;
Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
No, not one word I cast to talk,
But yet unuttered Thou dost know.
To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,
Oh, whither might I take my way?
To starry sphere ?
Thy throne is there :
To dead men's undelightsome stay ?
There is thy walk, and there to lie
Unknown in vain I should essay.