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OOD Lord, no strength I have, nor need ; Within Thy light I lie, And grow like herb in sunny place, While outer storms go by. Thy pleasant rain my soul doth feed — Thy love like summer rain ; I faint, but lo thy winds of grace Revive my soul again. I fain would give some perfume out, Some bruised scent of myrrh ; But Thou art close at hand, my Lord — I need not strive nor stir. I cannot fear, and need not doubt, Though I be weak and low : If Thou didst will, a mighty sword From out my stem should grow.