Still upon the field of battle,|
I am lying, Mother dear,
With my woulded comrades waiting,
For the morning to appear.
Many sleep to waken never,
In this world of strife and death,
And many more are faintly calling,
With their feeble dying breath.
Mother, dear, your boy is wounded,
And night is drear with pain,
But still I feel that I shall see you,
And the dear old home again.
2. Oh, the first great charge was fearful,|
And a thousand brave men fell,
Still amid the dreadful carnage,
I was safe from shot and shell.
So amid the fatal shower,
I had nearly passed the day,
When here the dreaded "minnie" struck me,
And I sunk amid the fray.
3. Oh, the glorious cheer of triumph,
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