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O my Lord,

Draw me

With Love's chord

To thee.


For I

Am lost

In my

Own frost.


Cold my heart,

Warm thine.

Bad the smart.. .

Be mine.


Thaw this

My own

Amiss:

Pride's tone--


Will it end,

Ever?

Will my mend;

Sever!


My hope

Art thou.

I cope

For now.


But great gain

Is Love.

God, do deign

This dove!


<chris>





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