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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


Pride's tone--

Will it end,


Will my mend;


My hope

Art thou.

I cope

For now.

But great gain

Is Love.

God, do deign

This dove!


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