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201 Diana

To thee, in youth's bright morning, 
Father of all, we pray, 
While thought and fancy dawning, 
Lead on the rising day;
To thee, in life's last even,
We'll tune our feeble breath, 
Hear all our sins forgiven, 
And softly sleep in death. 

When from death's sleep we waken, 
No fears shall us surprise; 
All earthly things forsaken, 
What joy shall meet our eyes!
With rapture then increasing, 
Forever we'll rejoice, 
And praises never ceasing 
Shall wake each tuneful voice.

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