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94 Twas open d for thy sake, &quot; Go wash, and thou art free ;&quot; Oh ! how did my proud heart gainsay, I fear d to trust his simple way.

7 At length I trial made, When I had much endured ; The message I obey d, I wash d, and I was cured. Sinners, this healing fountain try, Which cleansed a wretch so vile as I.

1 THE prophets sons in times of old, Though to appearance poor, Were rich without possessing gold, And honour d though obscure.

2 In peace their daily bread they eat, By honest labour earn d ; While daily at Elista s feet They grace and wisdom learn d.

3 The prophet s presence cheer d their toil, They watch d the words he spoke, Whether they turn d the furrow d soil, Or fell d the spreading oak.

4 Once as they listen d to his theme Their conference was stopp d ; For one beneath the yielding stream A borrow d axe had dropp d.

5 &quot; Alas ! it was not mine, he said; &quot; How shall I make it good ?&quot; Elisha heard, and when he pray d, The iron swam like wood.

6 If God in such a small affair A miracle performs, It shows his condescending care Of poor unworthy worms.