And the lilies of the field,
Be my sovereign King, I pray;
Make my stony heart to yield.
God, who knows my every thought,
Bid my troubled mind be still.
Bend my feet to seek thy throne;
Break my pride to seek thy will.
God, who sent his Son to die,
Make that gift for me not vain.
Cleanse from sin through his spilt blood--
Bring me to thy face again.
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