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The Old Times Were the Best

 Friends, my heart is half aweary
Of its happiness to-night:
Though your songs are gay and cheery,
And your spirits feather-light,
There's a ghostly music haunting
Still the heart of every guest
And a voiceless chorus chanting
That the Old Times were the best.
CHORUS All about is bright and pleasant With the sound of song and jest, Yet a feeling's ever present That the Old Times were the best.

Poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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