George L. Root, 1864
In the prison cell I sit, |
Thinking Mother, dear, of you,
And our bright and happy home so far away,
And the tears, they fill my eyes
'spite of all that I can do,
Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
Tramp, tramp, tramp,
The boys are marching,
Cheer up comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag
We shall breathe the air again
Of the free land in our own beloved home.
2. In the battle front we stood,|
When their fiercest charge they made,
And they swept us off a hundred men or more,
But before we reached their lines,
They were beaten back dismayed,
And we heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and o'er.
3. So within the prison cell
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