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S. M.

*Emily Taylor.


Come to the house of prayer,

O ye afflicted, come!

The God of peace shall meet you there,

He makes that house His home.

Come to the house of praise,

Ye who are happy now;

In sweet accord your voices raise,

In kindred homage bow.

Ye aged, hither come,

For ye have felt His love;

Soon shall ye lift a holier song

In fairer courts above.

Ye young, before His throne,

Come, bow; your voices raise;

Let not your hearts His praise disown,

Who gives the power to praise.

Thou, whose benignant eye

In mercy looks on all;

Who seest the tear of misery,

And hear’st the mourner’s call;

Up to Thy dwelling-place

Bear our frail spirits on,

Till they outstrip time’s tardy pace,

And heaven on earth be won.

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