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 When in my sin I totter, I weep, or try to weep: And grace, sweet grace celestial, Shall all its love display, And David's Royal Fountain Purge every sin away.

O mine, my golden Syon! O lovelier far than gold! With laurel-girt battalions, And safe victorious fold: O sweet and blessed Country, Shall I ever see thy face? O sweet and blessed Country, Shall I ever win thy grace? I have the hope within me To comfort and to bless! Shall I ever win the prize itself? O tell me, tell me, yes!

Exult, O dust and ashes, The shall be thy part: His only, His for ever, Thou shalt be, and thou art! Exult, O dust and ashes! The shall be thy part: His only, His for ever, Thou shalt be, and thou art!