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115

III

8,8,8,8

A halo rests upon Thy brow,

O Saviour of the sons of men;

For Thou art crowned a Victor now;--

But Thou wilt come to us again.

Thou hast a thought for those who tread

The steeps of life, and often fail[

The weak in faith lift up the head,

And in Thy strength, O Christ, prevail.

Thou art not far removed from those,

That yearn for Thee, and seek Thy grace;

Who in Thy tender love repose,

May hear Thy voice, and see Thy face;--

And know the love that giveth rest,

And share its strength, and feel its glow;

As he who leaned upon Thy breast,

When Thou wert with us, long ago.

But hearts are sad, and lives are lone,

They long for Thee, who love Thee most;

Even when Thy promised Gift they own,--

The comfort of the Holy Ghost.

Thou art our Faith, our Hope, our Love,

O Lover of the souls of men;

Bow down Thy heavens, and from above,

Come, Blessed Lord, to us again.

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