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OUR SOLDIERS.
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OUR SOLDIERS.
OTHER, with your fond heart southward turning, And your face so full of anxious yearning,—
By the sorrow in your deep eyes growing,
Well I know where all your thoughts are going.
To the brave, bright boy, all danger scorning,
Gone to battle in his youth's fresh morning,—
For his country's bitter need, defying
Pain and hardship, and the dread of dying.
Gone to battle in his youth's fresh morning,—
For his country's bitter need, defying
Pain and hardship, and the dread of dying.
Fair young girl, whose startled heart beats faster
At the news of triumph or disaster,—
Ah! the word you whisper softly over,
Is the dear name of your valiant lover.
At the news of triumph or disaster,—
Ah! the word you whisper softly over,
Is the dear name of your valiant lover.
In the army where our banners hover,
I have neither brother, son, nor lover:
Round what camp-fire shall my thought be straying?
Whom shall I remember in my praying?
I have neither brother, son, nor lover:
Round what camp-fire shall my thought be straying?
Whom shall I remember in my praying?
