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To live at random, void of cares,
5 O may it be my lasting choice ..
To walk with men of grace below! "Till I arrive where heav'nly joys,.
And never-fading honours grow !
4 Thus when the faints in glory meet,
Their lips proclaim thy grace ; They caft their honours at thy feet,
And own their borrow'd rays. ..
3 Are there not foes for me to face?
Must I not item the flood ?
To help me on to God.
5 Thy saints, in all this glorious war,
Shall conquer tho' they die :