Great Flowers, Great Prices
Who fed me from her gentle breast
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who sat and watched my infant head
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who ran to help me when I fell
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And can I ever cease to be
Oh no, the thought I cannot bear;
When thou art feeble, old and gray,
And when I see thee hang thy head,
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