THE CAMP'S SWEET SINGER.
Copyright, 1898, by L H. Ascherfeld.
A soldier boy lay dying near a Cuban battle-field,
While shades of night around were falling fast,
From break of day 'till setting sun the shot and shell had rained.
But now o'er all a hush had come at last;
His flag had won the battle and the troops had left the field,
None knowing he lay wounded, 'neath the trees.
The cool night air revived him. and altho' his end was near,
This song to ua was wafted by the breeze:
God bless my sweetheart, far, far away,
Tell her our colors have carried the day.
Tell her her prayers and the kiss that she gave,
Have given me courage to fight and be brave.
We hurried out to find him, for we lov'd this soldier well.
He had been the camp's sweet singer, aye, was singing when he fell;
O how many times he'd cheered us when our hearts were faint & sad.
By his tuneful, soulful singing of the songs that made us glad.
He would sing his Master's praises, or would sing of home so dear.
He could move the stony-hearted, and e'en make him shed a tear.
His life had been all music, had he sorrow, joy or pain;
And even as it left him, he was singing this refrain:
Bid her not sorrow, give her my love,
Tell her that God will unite us above.
And there we'll be joyful, and join, as of yore,
in songs of glad praise unto Him we adore.