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I do not know your earthly name,
Or recognize your face,
Yet from the fringes of my life,
You pray in silent grace;
With folded hands you lift me up,
Above the swirling chaff,
And wrap my cares,
With gentle prayers,
Sent forth on my behalf.
Your whispers drift upon the breeze,
And help my spirit grow—
Requests too bold for me to speak,
Or too naive to know;
And if my faith is burning dim,
You treasure every spark,
And plead my case,
Without disgrace,
While kneeling in the dark.
How many others have you touched,
With your unceasing prayer?
How many teardrops have you shed,
When no one seemed to care?
How many dreams have been fulfilled,
Upon some sleepless night,
Because you chose,
To shun repose,
Until the morning light?
Yet if you passed from mortal life,
No mourner would presume,
Some monument should bear your name,
Beside that lonesome tomb,
But temples built of mortal praise,
Are not your sought reward,
For love declared,
By whispers shared,
Between you and the LORD.
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