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But thou, my soul-how dost thou keep
And celebrate the day

When Christ with strong arm left the grave,

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Out of the deep death-night of sin
Hast thou with Christ arisen ;-
From bondage hast thou struggled free;
Or art thou still in prison?
Still in thy sin's dark dwelling

Lying concealed and dead,
Doth Easter-Morning bring thee

No glorious Morning-Red?

O hasten forth-by sin's black night
No longer covered be!

Thy Lord hath risen from the dead
That He might waken thee.
Come, rise from sleep-The Master
The soul from death would save:
To the New Life He calls thee;-

Arise from out thy grave!

See, rich in mercy, He extends

To thee His pierced Hands; And lovingly He sets thee free

From death's strong icy bands. From Him fear no rebuking

Who waits each soul to bless : Rise to the New Life's rapture— Thy new-found happiness!

Rise quickly to that Life, O Soul,
For thou hast slept too long!
He, Who hath tasted death for thee,
For life will make thee strong.
Only first venture forward,

Though weak and all untried;
He Who awaked thee walketh
For ever by thy side.

O ponder and consider not

So long, how thou must go !

Such thoughts but make thee more inert, And thy steps more faint and slow.

No help He will deny thee ;

Go forth without alarm!

Thy Lord, when thou art weary,

Will bear thee on His Arm.

That thou should'st waken and arise, Thy Saviour rose on High,

To draw thee out of Sin's hard bonds Into bless'd liberty.

He casting off the fetters

Thou worest as a slave,

Thine old life lies behind thee,

As a dark and empty grave!

"MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR THE LIVING

GOD."

(“ MEINE SEELE DÜRSTET NACH DEM LEBENDIGEN

GOTT.")

Ask not why my soul doth languish ;-
Ask not why the sad tears start :
Thirst for God hath filled my spirit ;
Yearning love consumes my heart.
Give me all that earth can offer;

Nought this craving void shall fill :
Without God, all poor and empty,
Through the world I wander still.

Glory, beauty, wealth, abundance,
Art, and science-none can give
Stillness to the spirit's yearning :-
None can give it strength to live.
Strength for life, for love, for sorrow,
Patient faith when joy is gone,
Joyful courage in life's partings,

Gives the Living God alone.

Human Art's imaginations,

Like to heathen fancies vain,
Are but vapour; and their workings
Cannot ease the spirit's pain.
So all fancy-painted symbols,

Drawing thought and mind abroad,

Set no barrier to the longing

That cries out alone for God.

Ah, when shall I reach the Country
Where, no more in vision dim,
God's own Face at last beholding,
I may rest alone in Him?

When shall I possess him wholly ;
Into Him engrafted be,

So that nought shall tear me from Him,
As His Word hath promised me?

When shall His Blest Spirit's Fulness
All my living energies
Consecrate to His Own Service,

Blending all my will with His ?

When shall all my eager longings
Sink and merge into the one
That His Work may stand and prosper,
To His Glorious Praise alone?

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