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Treasury of Sacred Song
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XII

O THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE

Anon.

O Gracious GOD, O Saviour sweet,

O JESUS, think on me,

And suffer me to kiss Thy feet,

Though late I come to Thee.

Behold, dear LORD, I come to Thee

With sorrow and with shame,

For when Thy bitter wounds I see,

I know I caused the same.

Sweet JESU, who shall lend me wings

Of peace and perfect love,

That I may rise from earthly things

To rest with Thee above?

For sin and sorrow overflow

All earthly things so high,

That I can find no rest below,

But unto Thee I fly.

Wherefore my soul doth loathe the things

Which gave it once delight,

And unto Thee, the King of kings,

Would mount with all her might.

And yet the weight of flesh and blood

Doth so my wings restrain,

That oft I strive and gain no good,

But rise, to fall again.

Yet when this fleshly misery

Is master'd by the mind,

I cry, 'avaunt, all vanity':

And 'Satan, stand behind.'

So thus, sweet LORD, I fly about

In weak and weary case

Like the lone dove which Noah sent [out],

And found no resting place.

My weary wings, sweet JESU, mark,

And when Thou thinkest best

Stretch forth Thy arm from out the ark,

And take me to Thy rest.

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