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Joy in Martyrdom

Sweet tenants of this grove!

Who sing without design,

A song of artless love,

In unison with mine:

These echoing shades return

Full many a note of ours,

That wise ones cannot learn,

With all their boasted powers.

O thou! whose sacred charms

These hearts so seldom love,

Although thy beauty warms

And blesses all above;

How slow are human things,

To choose their happiest lot!

All–glorious King of kings,

Say why we love thee not?

This heart, that cannot rest,

Shall thine for ever prove;

Though bleeding and distressed,

Yet joyful in thy love:

'Tis happy though it breaks

Beneath thy chastening hand;

And speechless, yet it speaks,

What thou canst understand.

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