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C. M.

Complaint under temptations of the devil.

How long wilt thou conceal thy face?

My God, how long delay?

When shall I feel those heav'nly rays

That chase my fears away?

How long shall my poor lab'ring soul

Wrestle and toil in vain?

Thy word can all my foes control,

And ease my raging pain.

See how the prince of darkness tries

All his malicious arts

He spreads a mist around my eyes,

And throws his fiery darts.

Be thou my sun, and thou my shield,

My soul in safety keep;

Make haste, before mine eyes are sealed

In death's eternal sleep.

How would the tempter boast aloud

If I become his prey!

Behold, the sons of hell grow proud

At thy so long delay.

But they shall fly at thy rebuke,

And Satan hide his head;

He knows the terrors of thy look,

And hears thy voice with dread.

Thou wilt display that sovereign grace,

Where all my hopes have hung;

I shall employ my lips in praise,

And victory shall be sung.

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