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7 & 6s. M.



Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,

Thy better portion trace!

Rise, from transitory things,

Towards heaven, thy native place!

Sun, and moon, and stars decay;

Time shall soon this earth remove;

Rise, my soul, and haste away

To seats prepared above!

Rivers to the ocean run,

Nor stay in all their course;

Fire, ascending, seeks the sun;

Both speed them to their source;

So the spirit, born of God,

Pants to view His glorious face;

Upward tends to His abode,

To rest in His embrace.

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