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All of us have become like one who is unclean. All our right and good works are like dirty pieces of cloth. And all of us dry up like a leaf. Our sins take us away like the wind. There is no one who calls on Your name, who stirs himself up to take hold of You. For You have hidden Your face from us, and have given us over to the power of our sins.

But now, O Lord, You are our Father. We are the clay, and You are our pot maker. All of us are the work of Your hand.

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