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Sawing Wood | ||
| When I saw my wood to burn Aching muscles are my gift. But I don't the duty spurn! Somehow still I get a lift. As the firewood piles up high And the branches disappear I exude a happy sigh, Feeling God is very near. 'Tis a joy to saw the wood So we have it for the cold. If I do it well I should Keep my youth and not grow old. | ||
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