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Iran
Fly, Like A Youthful Hart Or Roe, Over The Hills Where Spices Grow.
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Fly, like a youthful hart or roe,
Over the hills where spices grow.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748)
-- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book i, Hymn 79
Related:
And while the lamp holds out to burn, The vilest sinner may return.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book i, Hymn 88...
Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book ii, Hymn 63...
There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reig
Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain....
The tall, the wise, the reverend head Must lie as low as ours.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book ii, Hymn 63...
Strange that a harp of thousand strings Should keep in tune so long!
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book ii, Hymn 19...
When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I 'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Book ii, Hymn 65...
So, when a raging fever burns, We shift from side to side by tu
And 't is a poor relief we gain To change the place, but keep the pain....
I have been there, and still would go; 'T is like a little heaven below.
-- Isaac Watts (1674-1748) -- Divine Songs, Song xxviii...
Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see!
What shall I render to my God For all his gifts to me?...