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7, 6, 7, 6, 7, 7, 7, 6

F. Price

Dover Selection, p. 167


Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,

Thy better portion trace;

Rise from transitory things

Toward 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.

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