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Hymn 18 Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord. Rev. 14:13. Hear what the voice from heav'n proclaims, For all the pious dead; Sweet is the savor of their names, And soft their sleeping bed. They die in Jesus, and are blest; How kind their slumbers are! From suff'rings and from sins released, And freed from every snare. Far from this world of toil and strife, They're present with the Lord; The labors of their mortal life End in a large reward. Isaac Watts's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1251 |
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