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162.

P. M.

Moore.

Come, Ye Disconsolate.
141

Come, ye disconsolate, where’er ye languish;

Come, at the shrine of God fervently kneel!

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish;

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,

Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure,

Here speaks the Comforter, in God’s name saying,

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.

Here see the bread of life; see waters flowing

Forth from the throne of God, living and pure;

Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.

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