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C. M.

Delight in God.

My God, what endless pleasures dwell

Above at thy right hand

Thy courts below, how amiable!

Where all thy graces stand!

The swallow near thy temple lies,

And chirps a cheerful note;

The lark mounts upward to the skies,

And tunes her warbling throat:

And we, when in thy presence, Lord,

We shout with joyful tongues;

Or sitting round our Father's board,

We crown the feast with songs.

While Jesus shines with quick'ning grace,

We sing, and mount on high;

But if a frown becloud his face,

We faint, and tire, and die.

[Just as we see the lonesome dove

Bemoan her widowed state,

Wand'ring she flies through all the grove,

And mourns her loving mate;

Just so our thoughts from thing to thing

In restless circles rove;

Just so we droop and hang the wing,

When Jesus hides his love.]

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