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, whereby the earth is blest, Certain Redemption, Hope, and Best, Once as the Tree of Torture known, Now the bright gate to Throne:

On thee the Host was lifted high Who to Himself drew all men nigh; Whom this world's Prince in malice sought, And in His spotless soul found nought.

The Law that in thy form begins Blots out the writing of our sins: Our ancient servitude is o'er And freedom is restored once more.