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Show jy HARP were the thorns on my Saviour's brow, Forked and crimson-Stained, And till the last sharp breath was drawn, r tf They remained. M I I Out of great suffering one cried , I J Thrice to be rid of a thorn, ith But from that long unanswered prayer, v I L Strength was born. i IWk Who am I to be bitter now 1 M Over a bitter thing: , l I who am neither evangelist, I ffl Nor a king? A jjl Let it depart from me, O God, Lighten my path, my days, ' J M1 , But may Thy grace, Thy Strength be mine, |