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I can scarce hold back my tears, when the southern moon ap-pears, For 'tis our humble cottage where it shines; Once again we seem to sit, when the eve-ning lamps are lit, With our faces turned to-ward the golden west, When I prayed that you and I ne'er would have to say 'Good-bye, But that still to-gether we'd be laid to rest. "As she sang, a lump kind of crawled up in my throat.
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