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LXXI. il Ook on me Lord till I do weep,

L Iam Thy poor and helpless Sheep:
Behold my cold and frozen Heart,
It is so cold it gives me Smart.
2 It gives me Pain and Shame, my God,

That I can know, Thy precious Blood in
In tender. Love was shed for me,

And my hard Heart not soften'd be. 30 Thou, with flaming Eyes of Fire,

My poor cold Heart with Warmth inspire ;
Pierce thro' and thro’ with Thy bright Beams,

Then let Thy Blood flow there in Streams.
4 That Blood, which all Things can fubdųe,
Will make me faithful prove and true,
And fill my Heart with Love to Thee,
Who haft so greatly loved me.

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