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My soul was wrung like a rag, then hung In a winter's night to chill; I continued to cry when the tears ran dry And my heart is frozen still. My son is gone, death stilled his song, My mind is in a twist; I grasp the sod as I kneel to God And pray that He exists! How I plead, for I so need To know His promise real, That death's harsh sting becomes a thing The mourner needn't feel. I flex my will, ""Oh mind, be still; Oh heart, please open wide! For reason fails, but truth prevails As the Spirit works inside."" My exhausted soul, like a dusty hole, Feels springlets burst within; The Spirit speaks and soon my cheeks Are moist with tears again. Tears of joy! I feel my boy Is gone from but my sight! He LIVES today, in truth I say, By God, I KNOW it's right! Now photographs of times and laughs, But later, face to face; Come soon, come late, I'll have to wait, But, oh, how we'll embrace!
Wes Stephenson

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