
Isaac Watts, 1709
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There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
2. There everlasting spring abides,
3. Bright fields beyond the swelling flood |
4. But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea; And linger, shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away.
5. O could we make our doubts remove,
6. Could we but climb where Moses stood, |

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