#24Shout to Jehovah, in ancient time

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Shout to Jehovah, in ancient time, The psalmist's sacred harp was strung, Whose blessed sound in songs sublime, And prophets praised with glowing tongue.
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Not now on Zion's high alone Thy favored worshipers may dwell, Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son Sat weary by the patriarch's well.
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From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer— The incense of the heart—may rise To heaven, and find acceptance there.
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To thee shall age, with snowy hair, And strength, and beauty, bend the knee, And childhood lisp with reverent air Its praises and its prayers to thee.

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