MY SOLDIER BOY.
When night comes on, when morning breaks, they rise,
Those earnest prayers by faithful lips oft said,
And pierce the blue which shrouds the inner skies:
“God guard my boy; God grant he is not dead!”
“My soldier boy—where is he camped to-night?”
“God guard him waking, sleeping or in fight!”
Far, far away where tropic suns cast down
Their scorching rays, where sultry damp airs rise