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HORSLEY. (CM.) đ đ „ = 88. Wiliam Horsley (1774-1858).
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I love thy skies, thy sunny mists,
Thy fields, thy mountains hour,
Thy wind that bloweth where it listsâ
Thy willâI love it more.
Thy fields, thy mountains hour,
Thy wind that bloweth where it listsâ
Thy willâI love it more.
I love thy hidden truth to seek
All round, in sea, on shore;
The arts whereby like gods we speakâ
Thy will to me is more.
All round, in sea, on shore;
The arts whereby like gods we speakâ
Thy will to me is more.
I love thy men and women, Lord,
The children round thy door:
Calm thoughts that inward strength affordâ
Thy will than these is more.
The children round thy door:
Calm thoughts that inward strength affordâ
Thy will than these is more.
But when thy will my life doth hold
Thine to the very core,
The world which that same will doth mould,
I love then ten times more.
Thine to the very core,
The world which that same will doth mould,
I love then ten times more.
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