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The Saints' Delight

F. Price



When I can read my title clear

To mansions in the skies,

I bid farewell to every fear,

And wipe my weeping eyes.


Should earth against my soul engage,

And fiery darts be hurled,

Then I can smile at Satan's rage,

And face a frowning world.


Let cares like a wild deluge come,

And storms of sorrow fall,

May I but safely reach my home,

My God, my heaven, my all:


There I shall bathe my weary soul

In seas of heavenly rest,

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

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