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C. M.


The Seed of the Word.

O God, by whom the seed is given,

By whom the harvest blest;

Whose word, like manna showered from heaven,

Is planted in our breast;

Preserve it from the passing feet,

And plunderers of the air;

The sultry sun’s intenser heat,

And weeds of worldly care!

Though buried deep, or thinly strewn,

Do Thou Thy grace supply;

The hope, in earthly furrows sown,

Shall ripen in the sky.

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