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C. M.

God my only happiness. Psa. 73:25

My God, my portion, and my love,

My everlasting all!

I've none but thee in heav'n above,

Or on this earthly ball.

[What empty things are all the skies,

And this inferior clod!

There's nothing here deserves my joys,

There's nothing like my God.]

[In vain the bright, the burning sun

Scatters his feeble light;

'Tis thy sweet beams create my noon;

If thou withdraw, 'tis night.

And whilst upon my restless bed,

Amongst the shades I roll,

If my Redeemer shows his head,

'Tis morning with my soul.]

To thee we owe our wealth, and friends,

And health, and safe abode:

Thanks to thy name for meaner things,

But they are not my God.

How vain a toy is glitt'ring wealth,

If once compared to thee!

Or what's my safety, or my health,

Or all my friends to me?

Were I possessor of the earth,

And called the stars my own,

Without thy graces and thyself

I were a wretch undone.

Let others stretch their arms like seas

And grasp in all the shore,

Grant me the visits of thy face,

And I desire no more.

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