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Friday, March 7, 2014

Single White Rose and With the glorious morning and MY soul, repeat His praise

With the glorious morning,
Verdant fields adorning;
While the golden sunlight,
Wakes the dewy leaves.
Haste we now with gladness,
Banish care and sadness,
Go and help the reapers
Gather in the sheaves.

When the days are brightest,
When our hearts are lightest;
When the lovely summer,
Fairest beauty weaves.
In the noontide beaming,
In the twilight gleaming,
Go and help the reapers
Gather in the sheaves.

Should our way be dreary,
Let us never weary;
Earnest, faithful labor,
Greatest joy receives:
Tho’ we toil in sorrow,
Soon will dawn the morrow,
When we’ll cross the river
Bearing home the sheaves.

Gather in the sheaves,
Gather in the sheaves,
While the voice of nature
Sweetest music breathes:
Hear the Master calling,
Hear the echoes falling;
Go and help the reapers,
Gather in the sheaves.
         Robert Bruce
  My soul, repeat His praise
  Whose mercies are so great,
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
  So ready to abate.

  High as the heavens are raised
  Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
  Our highest thoughts exceed.

  His power subdues our sins,
  And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
  Doth all our guilt remove.

  The pity of the Lord
  To those that fear His Name
Is such as tender parents feel;
  He knows our feeble frame.

  Our days are as the grass,
  Or like the morning flower;
If one sharp blast sweep o’er the field,
  It withers in an hour.

  But Thy compassions, Lord,
  To endless years endure;
And children’s children ever find
  Thy words of promise sure.
        Rev. Isaac Watts

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