Let Me Die With My Face To The Foe
Copyright, 1876, by Horace Waters.
Let me die with my face to the foe, boys3,
On the field by the brave made gory;
'Tis sweet thus to die and to know, boys,
That the old flag waves in glory;
To hear the bugles pealing,
Where a fearful wrong Is reeling,
While slavery's might and slavery's night
Sink down in the battle's glow.
I hear the shout of the brave ring out
Where the land's high hearts he low;
Then let me gaze thro' the cannon's blaze
And die with my face to the foe.
Let me turn my face to the foe, boys,
Ere the dark tide of death rolls o'er me;
Let the flames of the combat glow, boys,
And the old flag stream before me.
I know the glorious morning,
The gloom of war adorning.
Will drive away with deathless ray
The night of our nation's woe.-Chorus.
Let me die with my face to the field, boys,
As the shot of the foeman found me;
I crave no shroud or shield, boys.
Save the old flag wrap'd around me.
Those stars shall gleam forever
O'er land and sea and river,
In freedom's right and freedom's light
O'er hearts that will never yield.-Chorus.