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623

C. M.

The type of endless rest.

375

Edmeston.

The the worn spirit wants repose,

And sighs her God to seek,

How sweet to hail the evening’s close,

That ends the weary week!

2 How sweet to hail the early dawn

That opens on the sight,

When first that soul-reviving morn

Sheds forth new rays of light!

3 Sweet day! thine hours too soon will cease;

Yet while they gently roll,

Breathe, gracious Lord, thou source of peace,

A Sabbath o’er my soul!

4 When will my pilgrimage be done,

The world’s long week be o’er:

That Sabbath dawn, which needs no sun,

That day, which fades no more!

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