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C. M.

The humble worship of heaven.


Father, I long, I faint to see

The place of thine abode;

I'd leave thine earthly courts, and flee

Up to thy seat, my God!

Here I behold thy distant face,

And 'tis a pleasing sight;

But to abide in thine embrace

Is infinite delight.

I'd part with all the joys of sense

To gaze upon thy throne;

Pleasure springs fresh for ever thence,

Unspeakable, unknown.

[There all the heav'nly hosts are seen,

In shining ranks they move,

And drink immortal vigor in

With wonder and with love.

Then at thy feet with awful fear

Th' adoring armies fall;

With joy they shrink to nothing there,

Before th' eternal All.

There I would vie with all the host

In duty and in bliss;

While "less than nothing" I could boast,

And "vanity confess."]

The more thy glories strike mine eyes

The humbler I shall lie;

Thus while I sink, my joys shall rise

Unmeasurably high.

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