Señor, que hombre del createdst en la abundancia y el almacén, aunque él perdió absurdo igual, decayéndose más y más, hasta que él hizo el más pobre: Con el thee O dejarme levantarse como alondras, armonioso, y cantar las victorias thy de este día: Entonces la caída más lejos el vuelo en mí.
Mi edad blanda en dolor comenzó: Y aún con enfermedades y didst de mil de la vergüenza castigar tan el pecado, de que que me convertí lo más delgadamente posible. Con thee dejarme combinar y sentir esta victoria thy del día: Para, si el imp de I mi ala en el thine, aflicción avanza el vuelo en mí.
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