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Huntington

L.M.

1.

Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I,

To mourn, and murmur, and repine;

To see the wicked placed on high,

In pride and robes of honor shine.

But O their end! their dreadful end!

Thy sanctuary taught me so;

On slippery rocks I see them stand,

And fiery billows roll below.

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