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Psalm 17

V.13-15
S. M.
Portion of saints and sinners.
 
Arise, my gracious God,
And make the wicked flee;
They are but thy chastising rod,
To drive thy saints to thee.
 
Behold, the sinner dies,
His haughty words are vain;
Here in this life his pleasure lies,
And all beyond is pain.
 
Then let his pride advance,
And boast of all his store;
The Lord is my inheritance,
My soul can wish no more.
 
I shall behold the face
Of my forgiving God;
And stand complete in righteousness,
Washed in my Savior’s blood.
 
There’s a new heav’n begun,
When I awake from death,
Dressed in the likeness of thy Son,
And draw immortal breath.
Autres oeuvres par Isaac Watts...



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