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Harry Bale
He started for the shanty, his strength was failing
fast; He said, " Oh, boys, I'm wounded: I fear it is my
last."
His brothers they were sent for, likewise his sisters
too, The doctors came and dressed his wound, but kind
words proved untrue. Poor Harry had no father to weep beside his bed, No kind and loving mother to sooth his aching head. He was just as gallant a young man as ever you
wished to know, But he withered like a flower, it was his time to go.
They placed him in his coffin and laid him in his
grave; His brothers and sisters mourned the loss of a
brother so true and brave. They took him to the graveyard and laid him away
to rest, His body lies mouldering, his soul is among the blest. |
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