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The only thing of that holy womb,
The lonely son of the creator,
Without stain was the wasted blood,
Pure stream showering down from the ribs camp.
Passion beyond humility humbled to.
Sacrifice without reverse rendered.
Love without limitation lent,
The kind far noticeable among mankind
Upright on a tree though faultless,
a reconciliation redemption rendered.
Oh! passionate was the passed passion.
