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Comfort | ||
| Comfort, Lord, the folks who mourn Those from life untimely torn! Those who die from violence Totally bereft of sense. They will ask an anguished "why?"! Why their loved ones had to die? The survivors are in pain, Feeling things they can't explain. Give them Lord the coping pow'r To confront each dreary hour. Help them, as they come to grieve, To discover they believe. | ||
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