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* * * Eternal Spirit, come Into Thy meanest home; From Thy high and holy place, Where Thou dost in glory reign, Stoop in condescending grace Stoop to the poor heart of man. For Thee our hearts we lift, And wait the heavenly gift, Giver, Lord, of life divine, To our dying souls appear; Grant the grace for which we pine, Give Thyself, the Comforter. Our ruined souls repair, And fix Thy mansion there; Claim us for Thy constant shrine, All Thy glorious self reveal; Life, and power, and love divine, God in us for ever dwell. Charles Wesley's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1188 |
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