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 Do it like the sun to write In the air a greater text of light; Welcome to all our vows, And since you pay To us this day So long desir'd, See we have fir'd Our holy spikenard, and there's none But brings his stick of cinnamon, His eager eye or smoother smile, And lays it gently on the pile, Which thus enkindled, we invoke Your name amidst the sacred smoke.

Chorus. Come then, great Lord. And see our altar burn With love of your return, And not a man here but consumes His soul to glad you in perfumes.

You may vow I'll not forget To pay the debt Which to thy memory stands as due As faith can seal it you; Take then tribute of my tears, So long as I have fears To prompt me I shall ever Languish and look, but thy return see never. Oh then to lessen my despair