| the brooding ghosts of australian night have gone from the bush and town;
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| my spirit revives in the morning breeze, died when the sun went down;
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| the river is high and the stream is strong, the grass is green and tall,
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| and i fain would think that this world of ours is a good world after all.
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| the light of passion in dreamy eyes, and a page of truth well read,
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| the glorious thrill in a heart grown cold of the spirit i thought was dead,
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| a song that goes to a comrade’s heart, and a tear of pride let fall,
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| and my soul is strong! |
| and the world to me is a grand world after all!
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| let our enemies go by their dull old tracks, and theirs be the fault or shame,
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| the man is bitter against the world who has only himself to blame;
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| let the darkest side of the past be dark, and only the good recall;
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| for i must believe that the world, my dear, is a kind world after all.
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| well may be that i saw too plain, and it may be i was blind;
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| i’ll keep my face to the dawning light, the devil may stand behind!
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| though the devil may stand behind my back, 'til i see his shadow fall,
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| i’ll read the light of the morning stars of a good world after all.
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| rest, for your eyes are weary, girl, you have driven the worst away,
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| the ghost of the man i might have been is gone from my heart to-day;
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| we’ll live for life and the best it brings as our twilight shadows fall;
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| my heart grows brave, and the world, my girl, is a good world after all.
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| my heart grows brave, and the world, my girl, is a good world after all. |