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 XXXVIII. 
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XXXIV.

[Lord, I the messengers receive]

Lord, I the messengers receive,
And firmly their report believe,
Who by Thy order testify
Of judgment and salvation nigh:
Hunted by all the faithless race,
They here shall find a hiding-place,
And till the storm is turn'd aside,
Secure beneath my roof abide.
My love they amply will repay,
If I their warning voice obey,
Hang out the covenanted sign,
The sacred red, the blood Divine;
Then, though Thy plagues our land o'erflow,
And lay our lofty cities low,
No evil shall I feel, or dread,
Protected by the scarlet thread.