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397b Bedan

O, cease, my wand'ring soul,
On restless wing to roam;
All this wide world, to either pole,
Has not for thee a home.

Behold the ark of God!
Behold the open door;
Oh! haste to gain that dear abode, 
And rove, my soul, no more.

There safe thou shalt abide,
There sweet shall be thy rest;
And ev'ry longing satisfied,
With full salvation blest.

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