| On the back page of the paper
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| Next to the ad for mobile homes
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| I read about my brother’s keeper
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| And the kindness he had shown
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| To some helpless perfect stranger
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| Who cried out in his pain
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| And what the front page had taken from me
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| Was given back to me again
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| My thoughts turned to the teachers
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| And the champions of the weak
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| The protectors of the creatures
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| And the saints down on the street
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| All the helpers, all the healers
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| Who lay hands on wounded souls
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| And whose daily acts of mercy
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| Drive the cynic from my door
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| Countless times I’ve seen the wonders
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| That the gift of hope can bring
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| To the betrayed and the forgotten
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| Yet I stood watching in the wings
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| Too many times I heard the call
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| And did not answer, to my shame
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| But I swear from this day on
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| I will lend a helping hand |