Dear Mother, I wish you were with me; I'm lying here all alone!
I see but the dead around me, I hear but the dying groan;
I'm very, very faint, mother, my wound is throbbing so bad;
Could I see you for even a moment, I should feel to my heart righ glad!
My blood is staining the hollow, it reddens the drum I dropped
When the quick, hot ball shot through me, and all within me stopped;
My drum, my delight and glory, that I carried all through the day
Rolling and beating and tapping, as to and fro went the fray;
I wish I could beat it again, it was ever my glory and joy,
But I cannot—ah! ah! this spasm—oh, mother! come, come to your boy!
The homestead, the dear old homestead, it rises to sight once more,
With the meadow and rocky woodland, and the orchard beside the door;
I shall never toss hay in the harvest, or follow the fox to his den;
Or taste the rosy ripe apples by the winter fire again!
I can see brother John in the meadow, dear Sissy is at the well;
How I used to tug at the windlass—ah! me—the tears must swell!
But I do not feel bad I enlisted, I would do it again to fight
The wicked rebels and traltors who trampled on honor and right,
As Deacon Wooster explained it, just after the news had come
That Charleston's ten thousand braves had whipped seventy of our scum!
No, no, I rejoice I enlisted, for did not tae wretched crew
Fire on the Flag of the Nation, and sever the Union in two?
The Flag my father defended, at blood-stained Lundy's Lane!
The Union that Uncle Ben said should be an eternal chain!
And there lives no tonguier lawyer! no, no, I rejoice I came!
Though here I'm lying and dying, they put me all in a flame,
The wicked rebels and traitors! Oh! I wish I could spring to my feet
And rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub once more, my drum in the battle beat!
Oh! did we not drive them famously? Ah! that pang was like a dart!
O mother! O mother! come to me, I'm weary and sick at heart!
Ah! yes, I'm weary, weary, my head seems running wild—
O mother! if you but knew this, how soon you would fly to your child!
She fondled me, blessed me, wept o'er me, commended me then to Him,
And gave me her Bible—I feel it—but my eyes grow heavy and dim!
O mother! O John! O Nellie! shall I see you never again?
Hark! hark! a swell of music—the bugle of Pleasanton's men!
Once more—my name is sounded—it is, it is mother's voice!
I'm here, I'm here, dear mother! I tremble, I so rejoice!
She's coming all shining in white! how it makes my poor heart leap!
Yes, throw your dear arms around me, and now I—will—go—to—sleep!