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Wrapt in their folded vests of light
They seek the sordid stall, Gaze with emotions of delight,
And own him Lord of all.
Shepherds, to you a herald flies,
Obey the early call, Immanuel in a manger lies,
Go crown him Lord of all.
He comes, he comes, our world to bless,
To ransom every soul From shades of endless wretchedness:
O crown him Lord of all!
The sceptre, robe, and throne prepare,
Attend, ye great and small, With acclamations rend the air,
And crown him Lord of all. |
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THE HOLY WELL.
As it fell out one May morning, And upon one bright holiday,
Sweet Jesus asked of his dear Mother, If he might go to play. |
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