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THE GOOD LORD GAVE
Lord, if in my praying, Thou should’st hear me weeping,
Ever was I wayward, always full of tears,
Take no heed of this grief. Sweet the gift Thou gavest
All the cherished treasure of those golden years.
Do not, therefore, hold me to Thy will ungrateful;
Soon I shall stand upright, smiling, strong, and brave,
With a son in heaven the sad earth forgetting,
But 'tis lonely yet, Lord, by the little grave,
Oh, 'tis lonely, lonely, by the little grave!
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