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In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance
And all my fountains clear.
PSAL. LXXXVIII
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LORD God that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I cry;
And all night long, before thee weep
Before thee prostrate lie.
Into thy presence let my praier
With sighs devout ascend
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.
For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie,
My life at death's uncherful dore
Unto the grave draws nigh.
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Reck'n'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit
I am a *man, but weak alas
And for that name unfit.
* Heb. A man without manly
strength.
From life discharg'd and parted quite
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