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S. M.

Repentance from a sense of Divine goodness.

Is this the kind return,

And these the thanks we owe,

Thus to abuse eternal love,

Whence all our blessings flow?

To what a stubborn frame

Has sin reduced our mind!

What strange rebellious wretches we,

And God as strangely kind!

[On us he bids the sun

Shed his reviving rays;

For us the skies their circles run,

To lengthen out our days.

The brutes obey their God,

And bow their necks to men;

But we, more base, more brutish things,

Reject his easy reign.]

Turn, turn us, mighty God,

And mold our souls afresh;

Break, sovereign grace, these hearts of stone,

And give us hearts of flesh.

Let old ingratitude

Provoke our weeping eyes,

And hourly as new mercies fall

Let hourly thanks arise.

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