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Occasional verse, moral and sacred

Published for the instruction and amusement of the Candidly Serious and Religious [by Edward Perronet]

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A THOUGHT ON PSALM, LXXVII. 4.

Tho' I mayn't sleep, yet I can rise,
And pay my midnight sacrifice
To Him whose condescending love
My meanest offering will approve;
My thanks for all the mercies shewn,
And all the blessings I have known;
His pardon seek for every sin,
My crimes without, my curse within;
My nature's stubbornness confess,
And plead His blood and righteousness:

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To Him my thoughts attentive turn,
And, as I contemplate Him, mourn,
To think that, after all He's done,
He finds so little of His own:
And yet, amidst it all, in hope
To lift my worthless eye-lids up;
To think, amidst the gloom of night,
I see a spark of smiling light,
And hear a voice, that, while it sounds,
All other melody confounds,
And, while its music charms my ear,
Bids my astonish'd heart not fear:
“Fear not (He cries) I'm only come
“To bright the horrors of this gloom;
“Thy long lost quiet to restore,
“And waking rise to sleep no more.”