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L. M.



O Lord, Thy heavenly grace impart,

And fix my frail, inconstant heart;

Henceforth my chief desire shall be

To dedicate myself to Thee.

Whate’er pursuits my time employ,

One thought shall fill my soul with joy;

That silent, secret thought shall be,

That all my hopes are fixed on Thee.

Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;

Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;

And, wheresoe’er my lot may be,

Still shall my spirit cleave to Thee.

Renouncing every worldly thing,

And safe beneath Thy sheltering wing,

My sweetest thought henceforth shall be,

That all I want I find in Thee.

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