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April 4, 2015 / Jon Ericson


Why are you silent, Oh Lord?
  Where are the words of comfort?
You have taken away my father's son.
  You snatched away my mother's gift.
Before the time of harvest,
  While the fruit was still green,
  You pulled it off the tree.
Why do give and take with the same hand?
  Was Bob ready when death led him away?

His line was cut off,
   And my children will never know his.
Photographs of joy are drenched with tears.
   Our memories are too few and fading.

Yet you know what it is to lose a Son.
   All of eternity broken in three sorrowful days.
If I have any hope, if my parents have any comfort,
   If we will see my brother again, if we will rejoice,
   It will be because of your sacrifice and grief.
Therefore I will fight through my despair,
   And I sing praises to you.

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