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The Great Divide

by

Diane Beauton

There was a certain rich man,

Who lived within the city;

Dressed in scarlet and fine linen,

Who would ever pity?



Outside his gate, a poor man lies,

With sores instead of clothes.

To catch the crumbs, before the dogs;

Gnawing at his toes.



The poor man died an empty shell,

No food was spared that day.

Called to Abrahamís bosom,

Angels carried him away.



That same day, the rich man died,

And was buried in the grave.

Tormented soul, he lifted eyes,

Gazing toward the saved.



In the distance far away,

Across a Great Divide.

He saw the Father Abraham,

And Lazarus by his side.



His anguished plea, cried out to him,

Have mercy on my pain.

Send the poor man, Lazarus,

With water to douse this flame.



Iím sad to say, between us,

There is a Great Divide;

Which no man crosses over,

To the other side.



I pray you, Father Abraham,

Send him to my father.

Warn my brothers of this place.

For you itís no great bother.



Words from the dead, they will heed;

Repent, and turn around.

Abraham itís not too late,

Go! Before their bound.



I can not come, as I have said,

There is a Great Divide.

They have Moses and the Prophets,

By which they must decide.

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