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Yes, thou must sicken, thou must die, 
The hour is fix’d — it may be nigh. 
Yet weep not in despair: ah! see, 
A victim bleeds, He bleeds for thee; 
Tlie thorns diy sin had sown He wears; 
The death thou earn’dst, for thee He bears 
Then rises from the grave, that thou 
Might’st find in death a baffied foe. 
Still weep’st thou ? ay, but hope and love 
Thy spirit’s depths now gently move; 
Contrition meek — not guilty fears, 
Has op’d a fount of holier tears : 
Such tears bespeak a soul forgiven, 
Such tears awaken joy in heaven. 
And does no change, no second birth, 
Await the desolated earth ? 
Yes, earth, — sore smitten for man’s sake, 
Shall of his glorious change partake. 
Arise, 0 Lord ! disperse the gloom, 
Redeemer, let thy kingdom come ! 
