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288 Morris


How condescending and how kind
Was God's eternal Son;
Our mis'ry reached His heav'nly mind,
And pity brought Him down.

When justice by our sins provoked,
Drew forth its dreadful sword,
He gave His soul up to the stroke,
Without a murm'ring word.


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http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text%201%20Treble%20%28f%29.mp3
http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text%201%20Treble%20%28m%29.mp3
http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text%202%20Alto.mp3
http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text%203%20Tenor.mp3
http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text%204%20Bass.mp3
http://sevenshapes.sacredharpbremen.org/resources/songs/200---299/288-morris/288%20Morris%20synth%20text.mp3