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Hugh Jones



The veil in this dear Mount of love,

And let the sun stand still above

Where once, reprovèd and beshrewed,

The Lamb of God was made to feel

The piercing steel, for my great good.

For me

No refuge anywhere can be,

But in His wounds on Calvary:

A fount I see in that dear side

Which hath received the cruel spear--

My soul, draw near the healing tide.

Mine, mine,

The virtue of that cross of Thine,

To cleanse my soul from evil sign:

The woe divine--the tearful plea

Incessant at the throne of light--

Have won the right of heaven for me.

Oh, cleanse

My life of every sinful sense

In that pure stream of innocence--

My sole defence and benison:

Its tide shall never ebb again,

But shall remain when time is done.

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