You gave us books, You gave us bread

and we rejected You instead

of honoring a word long-gave

to beat the bonds, the sting most grave

A tree raised high on Moria’s peak

that all may find You, who seek

but misty fogs, the limit of man,

confusing many, outside Your plan

that all may die, and then live free

the love You shed, Gethsemane

the power to bleach away our sin,

that all with You can live again,

A choice we make, for but our own

to become a stool or receive a Throne

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