39. 7s. M. Bowring. Lowly Praise. 1 Lord, in heaven, thy dwelling-place, Hear the praises of our race, And, while hearing, let thy grace Dews of sweet forgiveness pour; While we know, benignant King, That the praises which we bring Are a worthless offering Till thy blessing makes it more. 2 More of truth, and more of might, More of love, and more of light, More of reason, and of right, From thy pardoning grace be given! It can make the humblest song Sweet, acceptable, and strong, As the strains the angels' throng Pour around the throne of heaven.
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