Dear
Lord, please quiet my troubled soul
And
may I ever be so bold
As
to make a plea
Worded
only to thee
To
give my weary soul
A dose
of heavenly bold
To
say what must and should be said
About
the living and the dead
And
from this morose and sadness rise
And
lift my eyes up toward the skies
And
though I know not where you really abide
Allow
me to stand by your riven side
For
whose burdens do now I feel
And from
whose stories must I steal
To tell
the truth to those who hear
And bring
repentance to every ear
Not
my story for it is surely their own
I listen
and listen until I moan
For
their bodies and souls to be set free
Anointed
and graced my humble plea
Broken
bodies healed
Spirits
once crushed by your love is sealed
Injustices
noted and sins against revealed
White
peoples’ crimes no longer yield
Oppression
now gone
Let
freedom ring
They
own the land
All
voices with passion now sing.
Amen
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