IN DAT GREAT GITTIN’-UP MORNIN’
I ’M a gwine to tell you bout de comin’ ob de Saviour,—
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’T IS of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars,
And the whistling wind from the west-nor’-west blew through the pit
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MY son, at last the fateful day has come
For us to part. The hours have nearly run.
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CLICK, click! how the needles go
Through the busy fingers, to and fro--
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THERE'S a military band that plays, on Sunday afternoons,
In a certain nameless city's quaint old square.
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John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,
His name is my name too.
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I know moonrise, I know starrise,
Lay dis body down.
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To touch a broken lute, To strike a jangled string,
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If I could frame for you in cunning words The songs my heart in sleep is often singing,
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Is the house turned topsy-turvy? Does it ring from street to roof?
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"Bring him not here, where our sainted feet Are treading the path to glory;
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They sit in the winter gloaming, And the fire burns bright between;
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There is a rainbow in the sky, Upon the arch where tempests trod;
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The supper is over, the hearth is swept, And in the wood-fire's glow
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The singer stood in a blaze of light, And fronted the flowery throng;
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Rain on the green grass,
And rain on the tree,
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When you startle awake in the dark morning
heart pounding breathing fast
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Is it parting with the roundness Of the smoothly moulded cheek?
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Sitting here by my desk all day, Hearing the constant click
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True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
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Was it a lie that they told me, Was it a pitiless hoax?
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In the best chamber of the house, Shut up in dim, uncertain light,
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Westron wind, when wilt thou blow
That small rain down can rain?
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I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
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How should I chose to walk the world with thee, Mine own beloved? When green grass is stirred
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I hear her rocking the baby-- Her room is next to mine--
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It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and
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Up in early morning light, Sweeping, dusting, "setting right,"
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'Twas but a breath-- And yet the fair, good name was wilted;
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If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid; To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
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