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Oh! why should only Lazarus return,
Quitting the clay-cold grave, the narrow bed?
So many souls lament, and wild hearts burn—
God, give us back our dead!
Why choose—it seems unjustly—only one?
Why blunt but once Death's eddying sword?
Why hear a sister's prayers, yet not a son—
What of my mother, Lord?
Quitting the clay-cold grave, the narrow bed?
So many souls lament, and wild hearts burn—
God, give us back our dead!
Why choose—it seems unjustly—only one?
Why blunt but once Death's eddying sword?
Why hear a sister's prayers, yet not a son—
What of my mother, Lord?
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