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HYMN 61

C. M.

A thought of death and glory.

446

My soul, come meditate the day,

And think how near it stands,

When thou must quit this house of clay,

And fly to unknown lands.

[And you, mine eyes, look down and view

The hollow, gaping tomb;

This gloomy prison waits for you,

Whene'er the summons come.]

O could we die with those that die,

And place us in their stead,

Then would our spirits learn to fly,

And converse with the dead:

Then should we see the saints above

In their own glorious forms,

And wonder why our souls should love

To dwell with mortal worms.

[How we should scorn these clothes of flesh,

These fetters, and this load!

And long for ev'ning to undress,

That we may rest with God.]

We should almost forsake our clay

Before the summons come,

And pray and wish our souls away

To their eternal home.

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