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From the same.

Lord, how in silence I despise

The giddy worldling’s snare!

This beauty, riches, honour, toys

Not worth a moment’s care.

Hence, painted dust, and gilded clay!

You have no charms for me:

Delusive breath, be far away!

I waste no thought on thee.

But when abroad at once I view

Both the world’s hosts and Thine!

Those simple, sad, afflicted, few;

These numerous, gay, and fine:

Lost my resolves, my scorn is past,

I boast my strength no more;

A willing slave they bind me fast

With unresisted power.

O, brook not this; let not Thy foes

Profane Thy hallow’d shrine:

Thine is my soul, by sacred vows

Of strictest union Thine!

Hear then my just, though late request,

Once more the captive free;

Renew Thy image in my breast,

And claim my heart for Thee.

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