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On this page
- I am thinking of the morning.
When I left old Irelands shore.
I can see my dear old mother.
Standing at the cabin door.
When she kissed my cheeks
On that still September
"'Mongst strangers you
Who may treat you boy with scorn.
But promise you'll
The land where you were born.
When they ask you what(continues on next page)Transcribed by a member of our volunteer transcription project.