| In an old dusty attic of a tenement house
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| I happened to wander one day
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| And there on the rafters 'neath shavings and chips
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| A drunkard’s poor little boy lay
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| Oh why are lying up here in the cold
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| What makes you lie on this hard bed?
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| My father’s a drunkard and he beat me today
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| My darling old mother is dead
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| I’m hiding from father and please sir, don’t tell
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| He beat me 'cause I would not steal
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| He said he would kill me the next I failed
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| And I’m so afraid sir, he will
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| I’m leaving you here, son, I sadly replied
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| But I will be back right away
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| But when I returned to the attic I found
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| That Jesus had been there that day
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| The chips and the shavings were there as before
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| And the little boy lie on his bed
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| With tears on his cheeks and his hands at his side
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| The poor little fellow was dead
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| A picture of mother lay close to his heart
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| A faint little note by his head
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| As I opened the paper, my eyes filled with tears
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| For these were the words that I read
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| I’m hiding with Jesus across the divide
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| With dear mother forever I’ll dwell
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| And thank you dear mister for your kindness to me
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| And now it’s alright if you tell |