| The traces of tears disappear in the desert
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| Where hot winds blow
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| The touch of a conscience is lost in the ice and snow
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| Ghosts of great cities, ruins of empires their spectres arise
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| No sign of the living beneath these skies
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| Minutes are passing, they turn into hours
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| The hours, they drift into days
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| O, Redeemer, lift us above this maze
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| Up from the wasteland, like a dream
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| Long forgotten reappearing
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| Up from the wasteland
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| Now redeemed, from a winter bleak and weary
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| Dry bones collected, connected by sinews
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| Stand as an army of men
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| Filled with the Spirit, they enter this world again
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| Its glorious light, or grey desolation
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| The lines of the battle are drawn
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| Jehovah, the rock that we stand upon
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| Up from the wasteland
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| We are drawn, to a glory never ending
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| Up from the wasteland
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| By His hand, our iniquity transcending
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| All our enemies beneath His feet
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| No height, nor depth, nor life, or death
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| Can take us away from His love |