Page:Songs of exile (IA songsofexile00daviiala).pdf/35

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Y noble love!

O dove of wondrous grace!

What aileth thee that thou dost weep in woe?

Messiah cometh unto thee: then go,

Fly to thy resting-place.

I am thy Saviour Who will ransom thee,

Thy hope from ancient day;

Know that in truth I say:

I, thy Redeemer, I will set thee free,

My noble love!

My Mighty Love!

Where is Thy troth of yore,

The vision of the seers in ages gone,

Proclaiming to the lone, the outcast one,

Whose glory is no more,

That she shall yet be sought, again shall shine