Copy ImageThe dearest idol I have known,Whate'er that idol be,Help me to tear it from thy throne,And worship only thee.So shall my walk be close with God,Calm and serene my frame;So purer light shall mark the roadThat leads me to the Lamb
William Cowper
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When we don't pray, we quit the fight. Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright. And Satan trembles when he sees. The weakest saint upon his knees
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My fugitive years are all hasting away,And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments I see,Have a being less durable even than he
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