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The soldier awakes from his dream.
Oh! that his sorrows were past, Beyond the bright stars and the sky,
There 's a home for the weary at last, The gleam of some paradise joys,
Will greet him in heaven's pure air, O the heroes who perished for right,
How sweet to rejoin them all there!
By In a M. Porter, of Alabama.
Air—" There is Rest for the Weary."
Lo! the Southland queen emerging, From her sad and wintry gloom,
Robes her torn and bleeding bosom, In her richest Orient bloom.
Chorus.—(Repeat first line three times.) For her weary sons are resting
By the Eden shore; They have won the crown immortal,
And the cross of death is o'er ! When the oriflamme is burning,
On the starlit Eden shore.