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The Mount of Olives was thy seat,[1]O Angel, heav'nly fair;
And thou, sweet Peace, didst often meet
Thy Prince[2]and Saviour there.5
But now abroad condemn'd to roam,
From Salem lov'd and bless'd;[3]A quiet conscience is thine home,
In every faithful breast.
Thou didst Augustus first inspire,10
That bloody war should cease;[4]And to Melchisedec retire,
The Sov'reign of our peace.[5]O come unto the Church repair,
And her defects review;15
Of old thou plantedst olives there,[6]Which to redundance grew.[7]Sustain the pillars of the state,
Be health and wealth conjoin'd;
And in each house thy turtles mate,[8]20
To multiply mankind.