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XVIII.

When turning to my place of rest,
In hope of glory soon to be,

Lo, leaning on our Saviour's breast,

Dear child of God, I meet with thee.

And hushed is every bitter sigh

For strength bowed down at early day,

And busy doubting lowly lie,

And anxious musings fly away.

In the clear light I see thee here,

The light no earthly cloud may dim,

O who can have a gloomy fear

For those whom Jesus keeps with him?

C

The sharpest gale that lays us low,

Our Saviour's still small voice obeys— And every sacred joy we know

Springs up to His eternal praise.

When, with one heart to Jesus given, Within His sheltering arms we stay, Our happy hope with Him in Heaven Seems not so very far away.

The hope we have, with patience waits, Kept in His secret presence thus,—

And lo, we see the open gates

Of God's bright city near to us.

Safe in that city of delight,

How glad my ransomed soul will be, When walking with the Lamb in white,

Dear child of God, I meet with thee.

If, by His love from fear set free,
This shadowy vale to thee seems fair,
O how my heart will long to see,

Thy pleasure in his presence there.

XIX.

TO THE SAME.

Love, heavenly love, possessing, And life without decline,

Our Father's greatest blessing, O dearly loved, is thine. Around thee, in thy weakness,

Our Saviour's arms we see ;

We know our Best Beloved
Is watching over thee.

In God, thy God, confiding, We yield thee to his willThrough faith of his providing,

Our hearts are calm and still.

In thy unweary patience

His faithfulness we see,

We know our Best Beloved Is watching over thee.

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