| These days shallow and feeble resolve abound
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| And true devotion and passionate fervor are seldom found
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| But there are those who often feel they’re all alone
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| Those of whose identities are known
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| By the mark of the crucified Son
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| Praying, caring, loving, sharing
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| These are the marks of the cross
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| Giving, bearing, feeling, daring
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| To lay down your life on the line
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| Forgetting what you leave behind
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| And willing to suffer the loss
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| Of the marks of the cross
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| These days the search for detachment and solitude
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| Lead to retreating to fortresses no one would dare intrude
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| Then there are those whose restless burdens start to show
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| Those who unmistakably most know
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| There’s no crown 'til we suffer the cross
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| All our identity rests in the knowledge
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| Of who we’re created to be
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| We are His workmanship, made in His image
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| For all of creation to see
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| The marks of His pain and His glory |