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Poem	No longer of Him be it said "He hath no place to lay His head." In every land a constant lamp Flames by His small and mighty camp. There is no strange and distant place That is not gladdened by His face. And every nation kneels to hail The Splendour shining through Its veil. Cloistered beside the shouting street, Silent, He calls me to His feet. Imprisoned for His love of me He makes my spirit greatly free. And through my lips that uttered sin The King of Glory enters in.
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