Written on Her Death-Bed
My Lord, my Saviour, and my God,
I bow to thy correcting rod;
Nor will I murmur or complain,
Tho' every limb be fill'd with pain;
Tho' my weak tongue its aid denies;
And daylight wounds my wretched eyes.
I bow to thy correcting rod;
Nor will I murmur or complain,
Tho' every limb be fill'd with pain;
Tho' my weak tongue its aid denies;
And daylight wounds my wretched eyes.
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