| Lord Jesus Christ, our heart feels sweet
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| Whene’er we think on Thee,
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| And long that to Thy presence dear
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| We soon might raptured be!
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| Lord, like the pretty +henna-flower,
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| In vineyards blossoming Thou art;
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| Incomp’rable Thy beauty is,
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| Admires and loves our heart!
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| There is no music adequate
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| Thy grace in full to praise,
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| Nor there a heart which could enjoy
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| Thy love in every phase.
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| Lord, like the pretty +henna-flower,
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| In vineyards blossoming Thou art;
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| Incomp’rable Thy beauty is,
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| Admires and loves our heart!
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| Yet, what delights our heart the most
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| Is not Thy love, Thy grace;
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| But it is Thine own loving Self
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| That satisfies always.
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| Lord, like the pretty +henna-flower,
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| In vineyards blossoming Thou art;
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| Incomp’rable Thy beauty is,
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| Admires and loves our heart!
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| Oh, Thou art fairer than the fair,
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| And sweeter than the sweet;
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| Beside Thee, none in heaven or earth
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| Our heart’s desire could meet.
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| Lord, like the pretty +henna-flower,
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| In vineyards blossoming Thou art;
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| Incomp’rable Thy beauty is,
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| Admires and loves our heart! |