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96b Leaning on Jesus' Breast

Oh, if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste, 
Fly fearless thro' death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

Jesus can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head, 
And breathe my life out sweetly there.

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