E. Bowers, 1864
Raise me in your arms, my brother,|
Let me see the glorious sun,
I am weary, faint, and dying,
How, is the battle lost or won?
I remember you, my brother,
Sent to me that fatal dart,
|: Brother fighting against brother,
'Tis well, 'tis well that thus we part, :|
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish'd by his brother,
Not a word of that be said.
2. Father's fighting for the Union,|
And you may meet him on the field,
Could your raise your arm to smite him,
Oh, could you bid that father yield?
He who lovd' us in our childhood,
Taught the infant pray'rs we said,
|: Brother, take from me a warning,
I'll soon be number'd with the dead, :|
3. Do you ever think of mother,
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