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477.

10s. M.

Sterling.

Rest.
372

O Thou, the primal fount of life and peace,

Who shedd’st Thy breathing quiet all around,

In me command that pain and conflict cease,

And tune to music every jarring sound.

Make Thou in me, O God, through shame and pain,

A heart attuned to Thy celestial calm;

Let not the spirit’s pangs be roused in vain,

But heal the wounded breast with soothing balm!

So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure,

In full accord with all Thy works of joy,

May I be nerved to labors high and pure,

And Thou Thy child to do Thy work employ.

In One who walked on earth, a man of woe,

Was holier peace than even this hour inspires;

From him to me let inward quiet flow,

And give the might my failing will requires.

So this great universe,—so he, and Thou,

The central source and wondrous bound of things,

May fill my heart with rest as deep as now

To land and sea and air Thy presence brings.

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