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Unhappy me! How longs my soul to go whence rise these springs and whence these waters flow. Tir'd with the chase, and scorch'd with noon tide beams, so pants the weary slag for cooling streams. Which in this vale of miseries we live, We all these pleasures insincere receive, Heaven is the place, thou GOD who art all in all, O take us up, and burn this worthless ball. Thou art the only source of real bliss; If peace we have tis thou that giv'st that peace. GOD can be nor unhappy, nor more blest, Since all perfections shine in Him confest. 'Tis only for ourselves if we do good, And if we're impious still thou liv'st the GOD. When shall we, chang'd into thine image shine. Blest state immortal like thyself divine! When gracious father shall we see those joys, those joys forever veil'd from human eyes? Those sounds ineffable when shall we hear? Those sounds which ne'er get peer'sh the mortal our?