| In a cold and cheerless garret
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| In a room so dim, so lone
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| In a frosty wintry silence
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| There was heard a little moan
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| And a little child is asking
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| At the break of the day
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| Will the roses bloom in heaven
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| Tell me, mama, tell me, pray
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| Will the roses bloom in heaven
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| Are there any gardens there
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| Any violets and clover
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| Way up with the angels fair
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| Will the branches fill with blossoms
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| And in winter fill with snow
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| Will the roses bloom in heaven
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| Tell me, mama, there I go
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| Now the room grows light and lighter
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| Everything has caught a glow
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| Heaven seems to stretch about her
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| While dream faces come and go
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| Then she whispered, birds are singing
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| Psalms of melody
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| And I see the roses blooming
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| While the angels beckon me
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| Then mother whispered
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| In the land so bright and fair
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| Where the roses will be blooming
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| There will be no parting there
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| Goodbye, my little darling
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| For death is lingering near
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| And on the little pale face
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| There was not one trace of fear |