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- A heart once pumped so strong and sure, a rich and fiery red
- That reached the toes and fingertips now weak and nearly dead.
- It urged and coaxed and pressed — inspired — to battle scary things.
- This faith is but a trickle now, its strength an echoed ring.
- Where is that strength? Where did it go? Where can it now be found?
- In plates of gold it is not hid. Nor quiet prayer profound.
- Not buried deep in mountain halls, nor under wooden pews;
- Not seen in tokens, skins, nor signs, nor in prophetic muse.
- A voice rang out in yesteryear, so piercing, loud, and firm:
- Defend and preach and testify, rejoice and teach and learn.
- It’s just a quiet whisper now, a scant sound off the tongue.
- Few hopeful words fall from the lips, no warming songs are sung
- Where is that voice? Where did it go? Where can it now be found?
- Not in the notes upon the page, nor in familiar sounds.
- Not in the mirrored words “I know”, nor parroted amens.
- Not in the furnace nor the soap, nor pearl or precious gem.
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