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The Breeze At Bethlehem

I that have lashed the sea
And from the forest torn the rooted tree,
Come now, my passion spent,
A lowly penitent,
Sweet Child, to Thee.


Alike Thy sovereign will
The strong & weak, O slumbering Babe, fulfil.
As I before Thee now
Shall waves submissive bow,
And storms be still.

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