| Oh father tonight they say you are,
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| To wed another bride,
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| That you will hold her in your arms,
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| Where my dear mother died.
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| They say her name is Mary too,
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| The name my mother bore,
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| But Father is she kind and true,
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| Like the one we loved before.
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| And is her footstep soft and light,
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| Her voice so meek and mild,
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| And father do you think she’ll love,
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| Your blind and helpless child.
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| Oh father do not bid me come,
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| To welcome your newmade bride,
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| I could not greet her in the room,
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| Where my dear mother died.
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| But when I’ve cried myself to sleep,
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| As I so often do,
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| Into my chamber you may creep,
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| My new made mama and you.
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| He turned away to leave the room,
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| A joyful cry was given,
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| He turned about and he knew at last,
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| His blind child had gone to Heaven.
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| They buried her by her mother’s side,
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| And erected a marble square,
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| And there on the tomb these words do read,
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| She’ll not be blind up there. |