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St. Patrick's Day Slideshow (E-J)
There's a dear little plant that grows in our
isle,
'Twas St. Patrick himself, sure, that sets it;
And the sun of his labor with pleasure did smile,
And with dew
from his eye often wet it.
It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland,
And they call it the dear
little Shamrock of Ireland
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