In the prison cell I sit, |
Thinking Mother, dear, of you,
And my happy Southern home so far away,
And my eyes, they fill with tears
'Spite of all that I can do,
Though 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 stars and bars
We shall breathe the air again
Of freemen in our own beloved home.
2. In the battle front we stood,
3. Now our great commander Lee
4. In the cruel stockade-pen|
Dying slowly day by day,
For weary months we've waited all in vain;
But if God will speed the way
Of our gallant boys in gray,
I shall see your face, dear mother, yet again.
5. When I close my eyes in sleep,
6. So the weary days go by,
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