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402b Kelso



My soul, repeat His praise,
Whose mercies are so great,
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.

His pow'r subdues our sins,
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.

High as the heav'ns are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the richness of His grace,
Our highest thoughts exceeds.

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