There's a spot in my heart which no colleen may own.|
There's a depth in my soul never sounded or known.
There's a place in my memory, my life, that you fill.
No other can take it, no one ever will.
Sure, I love the dear silver that shines in your hair,
And the brow that's all furrowed and wrinkled with care.
I kiss the dear fingers so toilworn for me.
Oh, God bless you and keep you, Mother Machree.
Every sorrow or care in the dear days gone by
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