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3 Barren although my soul remain.
And no one bud of grace appear;
But fin, and only fin is here:
My blooming hopes cut off I fee;
And glory that he dy'd for me.
TILL for thy loving-kindness Lord,
I in thy temple wait;
Or at thy table meet.
'Tis all I live to know! To feel the virtue of thy blood,
And spread its praise below!