God does not comfort us
To make us comfortable,
But to make us comforters

They tell me I must bruise
The rose leaf
Here I can keep and
Use its fragrance brief

The pain so real and
Ur heart is aching
What in me is that
Thee my God is breaking?

I can’t no more
Keep the score
Of mine agony
And suffering anymore

Must it always be so with precious things?
Must they be bruised and go with beaten wing?
Those days of storms and thunder horns
Came those blessings unfold
Like the days when I was reborn

Blessed are thee when God visits thee
With sorrows and suffering storms
To withheld the blessings to be later reborn
Making you a hero blowing the horn
Reuniting God’s people taking blow by blow

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