Our Soldiers
Mother, with your fond heart southward turning,
And your face so full of anxious yearning, —
By the sorrow in your deep eyes growing,
Well I know where all your thoughts are going.
To the brave, bright boy, all danger scorning,
Gone to battle in his youth's fresh morning, —
For his country's bitter need, defying
Pain and hardship, and the dread of dying.
Fair young girl, whose startled heart beats faster
At the news of triumph or disaster, —
Ah! the word you whisper softly over,
Is the dear name of your valiant lover.
In the army where our banners hover,
I have neither brother, son, nor lover:
Round what camp-fire shall my thought be straying?
Whom shall I remember in my praying?
O we lonesome ones, who linger over
No dear name of brother, son, or lover, —
Still our hearts ache, and our tear-drops fall
Others pray for one , — we pray for all!
And your face so full of anxious yearning, —
By the sorrow in your deep eyes growing,
Well I know where all your thoughts are going.
To the brave, bright boy, all danger scorning,
Gone to battle in his youth's fresh morning, —
For his country's bitter need, defying
Pain and hardship, and the dread of dying.
Fair young girl, whose startled heart beats faster
At the news of triumph or disaster, —
Ah! the word you whisper softly over,
Is the dear name of your valiant lover.
In the army where our banners hover,
I have neither brother, son, nor lover:
Round what camp-fire shall my thought be straying?
Whom shall I remember in my praying?
O we lonesome ones, who linger over
No dear name of brother, son, or lover, —
Still our hearts ache, and our tear-drops fall
Others pray for one , — we pray for all!
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