105. Hora Novissima
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{179}
WHENE'ER goes forth Thy dread command, |
| And my last hour is nigh, |
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Lord, grant me in a Christian land, |
| As I was born, to die. |
I pray not, Lord, that friends may be, |
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Or kindred, standing by,—
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| Choice blessing! which I leave to Thee |
| To grant me or deny. |
But let my failing limbs beneath |
| My Mother's smile recline; |
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And prayers sustain my labouring breath |
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From out her sacred shrine.
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And let the Cross beside my bed
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In its dread Presence rest:
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And let the absolving words be said,
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To ease a laden breast. {180}
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Thou, Lord, where'er we lie, canst aid;
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But He, who taught His own
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To live as one, will not upbraid
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The dread to die alone.
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At Sea.
June 22, 1833.
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