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Thou Lord of death! O be thy presence nearer
When and in thy last, long night I close my eyes
He thinks of that as all-awful hour serenely
When all the world's gay shall decay;
And thence look forward to that brighter morning
Which ushers in a holier fairer day:
To Thee my God I live! – & in Thee dying,
Sink in the tomb – & feel no rude alarms;
An Angel sent from heaven then fluttered o'er me
And I shall sleep serenely in Thy arms
Identifier: | JB/110/244/003 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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monday evening |
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collectanea |
3 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
[[watermarks::[partial motif] <…>19]] |
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1819 |
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36234 |
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