sometimes when I turn aside And guide me on that long, dim trail ahead That stretched upward toward the great divide
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie These words came low and mournfully From the pallid lips of a youth who lay On his dying bed at the close of day
Oh, bury me not and his voice failed there But we took no heed to his dying prayer In a shallow grave just six by three We buried him there on the lone prairie.
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