To bear the weight of troubles not his own.
With every darkened deed and day too long.
He reaps the fruit of sadness friends have sown.
God gave him angel wings, with which to shield.
The weak of heart, sweet wings to soar above.
The endless hurts the world will surely yield.
And grace those sad of heart with patient love.
God gave him hands, so mortal, yet so mild.
To hold the weak of heart close to his breast.
And calm their fears, their troubled storms so wild.
To let their pain and problems lay to rest.
God made an angel so those hurt can stand.
But if an angel, who will hold his hand?
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