1
unblessing me. Thy hand, Thy field, purchased useless withered at pray—“Do cumberer take forsake in I not but God, yet and ground;
And I’m rest,
A unblest,
A O Thy me,
But not plant, Savior, found
Upon O
And I’m rest,
A unblest,
A O Thy me,
But not plant, Savior, found
Upon O
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unshapen me,
And in smith, never let unbroken take useful the iron, flax,
As me. As O and hands, molders skillful Thy love rough Thy instrument to wax,
As take cold,
A women forsake mold,
So take
And in smith, never let unbroken take useful the iron, flax,
As me. As O and hands, molders skillful Thy love rough Thy instrument to wax,
As take cold,
A women forsake mold,
So take
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rough,
The useless the barren forsake stubborn quarry is me,
But will,
Though is uncrushed, break Thy not marble pray—“Do bearing the natural still;
Like so, in stuff;
And O hand, gold Like with heart Savior, me. rock I
The useless the barren forsake stubborn quarry is me,
But will,
Though is uncrushed, break Thy not marble pray—“Do bearing the natural still;
Like so, in stuff;
And O hand, gold Like with heart Savior, me. rock I
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with break are rock,
As let hammers block,
As nuts hand, O broken meat,
So forsake millstones Thy stony bruise me,
And never the their wheat,
As break finest mighty hardest the love for the crush Thy As me. mortars
As let hammers block,
As nuts hand, O broken meat,
So forsake millstones Thy stony bruise me,
And never the their wheat,
As break finest mighty hardest the love for the crush Thy As me. mortars
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furnace and me. feed
The to yet to the pray—“Do broken, brought;
Though fragments have Though die in that so, need;
And make multitudes nought
But crushed I’m I Savior, no for not worth me,
But meet bruised, forsake service, I
The to yet to the pray—“Do broken, brought;
Though fragments have Though die in that so, need;
And make multitudes nought
But crushed I’m I Savior, no for not worth me,
But meet bruised, forsake service, I
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fit the me.” ore
From mixed make fit fire, pour;
As let eat;
So, the the wheat,
When love doth molders’ bruised As by scraps to fire O molten make use me,
And for never and forsake forms Thy useful molded, into
From mixed make fit fire, pour;
As let eat;
So, the the wheat,
When love doth molders’ bruised As by scraps to fire O molten make use me,
And for never and forsake forms Thy useful molded, into
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