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PRISONERS' EVENING SERVICE.
Yet, by the anguish of thy Son
When his last hour came darkly on—
By his dread cry, the air which rent
In terror of abandonment—
And by his parting word, which rose
Through faith victorious o'er all woes—
We know that Thou mayst wound, mayst break
The spirit, but wilt ne'er forsake!
Sad suppliants whom our brethren spurn,
In our deep need to Thee we turn!
In life, in death, we yield thee boundless trust!
