MORITURUS

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Lord, when my hour to part is come,
And all the powers of being sink,
When eyes are filmed, and lips are dumb,
And scarce I hang upon the brink.
Grant me but this—in that strange light
Or blind amid confused alarms,
One moment’s strength to stand upright
And cast myself into Thy arms.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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