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A PARAPHRASE ON THE TWENTY-SEVENTH…

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A PARAPHRASE ON THE TWENTY-SEVENTH PSALM. (FOR THE MERLIN.) TH* Lord's my light—my soul's bright star, Whose radiance cheers me from afar, When all is dark before me— Hope, smiling, points to realms above, Where the all-seeing eye of Love Is ever watching o er me. The world's contempt I will not fear- The hypocrite's or worldling's sneer, If blessed with his aífection- My soul shall soar beyond the sphere Of earthly pride, or slavish fear, Of sorrow and dejection. When by false friends I'm compassed 'round Whose art no human line can sound- Whose hidden treachery, In all their dealings still abound, In Him, my strength, shall still be found, For He shall rescue me. And though a host of bitter foes, Selfish, implacable as those, Should against me rise, In Him my soul shall find repose From earthly strife and earthly woes, For He, my faitk but tries. One thing of Him I have desired, For which my soul hath long upited- For which I daily wait- To see His beauty I've required That I may be refreshed, inspired, Within His temple-gate. For in the time of grief I'll fly To Him, my only sanctuary, And 'nealh his wings I'll hide And He shall set me up on high From every secret enemy, And from the shafts of pride. He shall lift up my drooping head— His wings of love around me spread, And, therefore, will I bring A broken heart's best sacrifice, Whose songs, as incense, shall arise— An humble offering. Yea, while I live to Him I'll raise My ever grateful hymns of praise, In Him I will rejoice— And hear me, Lord, when e'er I cry To thee for help from misery, Oh, answer thou, my voice.! Lord, when thou said'st Seek ye my face." My heart replied, Yea, Lord, I'd trace Thy image on my heart— Oh, let it but thy impress wear: Let it be e'er engraven there, Never more to depart. Oh, hide not far from me thy face, Be with me Lord, in every place— Oh, put me not away; Oh, let not sin thy seal deface, Oh, leave me not thou God of grace, For thou hast been my stay. When friends and parents thou did'st take, And when my breaking heart did ache, To drink grief's bitter cup— Thou dids't sustain me through my fate, Ee'en though my home was desolate, And thou did'st bear me up. Teach me, 0, Lord, and keep me still— Let me but know, and do thy will, On thee I will rely Ob, save me—save me from the will, Of those who seek to do me ill, Who breathe out cruelty. My every hope had long since died, I Had I not on thy word relied, Thy all sustaining Word; Wait on the Lord, ye mourners, wait, Be strong in him, ye desolate; Wait, I say, on the Lord January 27,1646. A G. M.

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