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3 Barren although my soul remain.

And no one bud of grace appear;
No fruit of all my toil and pain,

But fin, and only fin is here:
Although my gifts and comforts loft,

My blooming hopes cut off I fee;
Yet will lin my Saviour trust,

And glory that he dy'd for me.

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TILL for thy loving-kindness Lord,

I in thy temple wait;
I look to find thee in thy word,

Or at thy table meet.

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'Tis all I live to know! To feel the virtue of thy blood,

And spread its praise below!

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