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O Lord Of Glory, Who Couldst Leave

By E.L. Bevir

      O Lord of glory, who couldst leave,
      The height supreme in death to lie,
      What tongue shall sing, what heart conceive
      The love divine that made Thee die?
      Bought with a price, for ever Thine,
      We bless Thee for Thy stoop divine.

      But ris'n, the Firstborn from the dead,
      Triumphant hast Thou entered in;
      The glorious Man, the living Head,
      Thrice worthy Thou our hearts to win!
      In Thy blest face all glories shine,
      And there we gaze on love divine.

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