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2IO FABER'S HYMNS. |
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How pleasant are thy paths, O Death !
Ever from toil to rest, — Where a rim of sea-like splendor runs, Where the days bury their golden suns,
In the dear hopeful west! |
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THE LENGTH OF DEATH.
Sweet Saviour! take me by the hand. And lead me through the gloom;
Oh, it seems far to the Other Land, And dark in the silent tomb! |
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