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Dear mother, sister, brother, all,
One parting- kiss—to all good-by : Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,
And let me like a soldier die! I've met the foe upon the field,
"Where hosts contending- scorned to fly; I fought for right—God bless you all—
Dear mother, I've come home to die.
Chorus. |
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POLK. By H. L. Flash.
A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
A puff of smoke, a roar, "Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
To the farthermost Christian shore, Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
"Will battle for right no more.
And that for a cause which is sanctified, By the blood of martyrs unknown—
A cause for which they gave their lives, And for which he gave his own—
He kneels, a meek ambassador, At the foot of the Father's throne. |
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