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IX

8,8,8,8,8,8

O bleeding heart, look up, behold

He hangs upon a Cross of dread,

Who bore a load of grief untold,

And, crowned with sorrow, bowed the head;

His heart once bled, O bleeding heart;

His hand can soothe thy cruel smart.

He knows thy grief, He knows it well,

The cruel loss, the fearful gloom;

For on His soul an anguish fell,

Among the mourners at the tomb;

His heart with sympathy can bless;

He knows thy sorrow's loneliness.

Bear it to Him, and leave it there,

And dawn shall chase the night away,

And all the shadow of thy care,

Melt as the clouds at opening day;

And gladness born of fearful night,

Rise in thy soul with joyous light.

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