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November 24, 1996


The Lost


We see them distant, glowing tread

upon their heav'nward way

these saints of God from death redeemed

through blood so freely spilled.


We see them sing in distant joy,

our end so far from theirs,

who seek and serve the greatest love;

that glory we abhor


And as we cringe in mortal dread

of Him whom they adore

two words alone our fear torment:


We knew!


Dear God in heaven our judge alone

we knew, and laughed to scorn the truth

of true freedom freely giv'n.

We knew, and know, and weep in pain,

who now live here in death,

removed fore'er from utmost love ...


... and pow'rless to change.


The Lost
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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