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Thursday Complin.
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222

Thursday Complin.

Hymn XX.

[Come my thoughts, who fondly fly]

Come my thoughts, who fondly fly
At every toy that passes by;
Spending so your strength in vain,
While what you court, you ne're can gain.
Come, my soul, who sure must be
Quite tir'd with all this life can see;
Losing oft thy hope and time:
Come take advice of this plain rime.
Seek no more abroad thy rest;
But seek at home, in thine own brest:
Let thy mind from guilt be clear;
Then look for all thy comfort there.
With thy Self, and with thy God,
Delight to make thy chief abode:

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There repose secure and free;
And no mischance can trouble thee.
Should death's self thy walls assail,
Still thou art safe and canst not fail:
Still thy soul's thine own, and she
To a new house remov'd shall be.
New and lasting there above,
All built and furnish't with pure love:
There shall this mud wall of thine,
Repair'd, the brightest stars outshine.
There thy Lord, who feeds thee now
VVith his own flesh, will more bestow;
He came down, to be like thee;
Thou shalt go up, and like Him be.
King of glory! King of peace!
May these our praises never cease:
Still may we adore thy Throne,
Still bow and sing to Thee alone.