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Saturday MATINS.
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Saturday MATINS.


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Hymn XXV.

[Lord, we again lift up our eys]

Lord, we again lift up our eys,
And leave our slugish beds:
But why we wake, or why we rise,
Comes seldom in our heads.
Is it to sweat and toyl for welth,
Or sport our time away;
That thou preserv'st us stil in helth,
And giv'st us this new day?
No, no, unskilful soul, not so;
Be not deceiv'd with toys:
Thy Lords commands more wisely go,
And aim at higher joys.
They bid us wake to seek new grace,
And some fresh vertue gain:
They call us up to mend our pace,
Till we the prize attain.
That glorious prize for which all run,
Who wisely spend their breath:

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VVho when this weary life is done,
Are sure of rest in death.
Not such a rest as here we prove,
Disturb'd with cares and fears:
But endless joy, and peace, and love,
Unmixt with grief and tears.
Glory to Thee, O bounteous Lord!
Who giv'st to all things breath:
Glory to Thee, Eternal VVord!
VVho sav'st us by thy death.
Glory, O blessed Spirit, to Thee,
Who fill'st our souls with love:
Glory to all the mystick Three,
Who reign one God above.