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MORNING |
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10 |
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2 Up to the hills where Christ is gone,
To plead for all His saints, Presenting at His Father's throne, Our songs and our complaints.
3 Thou art a God before whose sight
The wicked shall not stand; Sinners shall ne'er be Thy delight, Nor dwell at Thy right hand. |
4 But to Thy house will I resort
To taste Thy mercies there; I will frequent Thy holy court, And worship in Thy fear.
5 O, may Thy Spirit guide my feet
In ways of righteousness; Make every path of duty straight And plain before my face.
Rev. Isaac Watts, 1719 |
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2 May this desire my spirit rule,
And as the moments fly Something of good be born in me, Something of evil die.
3 Some grace that seeks my heart to win,
With shining vict'ry meet, |
Some sin that strives for mastery Find overthrow complete.
4 That so throughout the coming day The hours shall carry me A little farther from the world, A little nearer Thee.
Mrs. F. A. Percv |
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