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The Song Book |
353 |
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The forms I call'd my own Have vanish'd one by one,
The lov'd ones, the dear ones have all pass'd away ; Their happy smiles have flown, Their gentle voices gone, I 've nothing left but old dog Tray. Old dog Tray, &c.
When thoughts recal the past, His eyes are on me cast,
I know he feels what my breaking heart would say ; Although he cannot, speak, I'll vainly, vainly seek A better friend than old dog Tray. Old dog Tray, &c. |
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