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C. M.

Spiritual and eternal joys; or, The beatific sight of Christ.

From thee, my God, my joys shall rise,

And run eternal rounds,

Beyond the limits of the skies,

And all created bounds.

The holy triumphs of my soul

Shall death itself outbrave,

Leave dull mortality behind,

And fly beyond the grave.

There, where my blessed Jesus reigns,

In heav'n's unmeasured space,

I'll spend a long eternity

In pleasure and in praise.

Millions of years my wond'ring eyes

Shall o'er thy beauties rove,

And endless ages I'll adore

The glories of thy love.

[Sweet Jesus, every smile of thine

Shall fresh endearments bring;

And thousand tastes of new delight

From all thy graces spring.

Haste, my Beloved, fetch my soul

Up to thy blest abode;

Fly, for my spirit longs to see

My Savior and my God.]

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