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C. M.

Recovery from sickness.


I love the Lord; he heard my cries,

And pitied every groan;

Long as I live, when troubles rise,

I'll hasten to his throne.

I love the Lord; he bowed his ear,

And chased my griefs away;

O let my heart no more despair,

While I have breath to pray!

My flesh declined, my spirits fell,

And I drew near the dead;

While inward pangs and fears of hell

Perplexed my wakeful head.

"My God," I cried, "thy servant save,

"Thou ever good and just;

Thy power can rescue from the grave,

Thy power is all my trust."

The Lord beheld me sore distressed,

He bid my pains remove

Return, my soul, to God thy rest,

For thou hast known his love.

My God hath saved my soul from death,

And dried my falling tears;

Now to his praise I'll spend my breath,

And my remaining years.

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