Page:Songs of exile (IA songsofexile00daviiala).pdf/65

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OVED of my soul! Father of grace!

Lead on Thy servant to Thy favoring sight;

He, fleetly as the hart, shall speed his pace

To bow him low before thy glorious might.

Sweet is Thy love to him beyond compare,

Sweeter than honey, fairer than things fair.

Splendor of worlds! honored, adored!

My soul is sick with pining love of Thee;

My God! I pray Thee, heal her: be implored;

And o'er her let Thy holy sweetness be

A soothing strength to stay her yearning sore;

And joy shall be for her for evermore.

Source of all good! pity Thou me!

And be Thou moved for thy belovèd son.

Ah! would that I could rise aloft and see