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I do not know why, o Lord

I so must suffer,

Why you allow the devil's horde

To make life still rougher.

But somehow some godly fruit

Through it I offer.

And no, though hellish, evil brute

Prevents this my proffer.

You now my poor soul refine

Through seven ghastly fires.

Though seven demons 'gainst me incline

Safe are my heaven's hires.

And though my very soul is torn,

My pledge I thee offer.

And though my spirit is deadly worn,

My praise I thee proffer.

Yes, eternal is my song.

Bursts of praise roll forward.

For ever for thee I long.

Psalms of worship flow onward.

<christopher bouter>

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