“Why am I so weak and weary,
See how faint my heated breath,
All around to me seems darkness,
Tell me, comrades, is this death?
Ah! how well I know your answer;
To my fate I meekly bow,
If you’ll only tell me truly
Who will care for mother now?”
At that time, when every community throughout the North as well as the South had more than one mother whose sole dependence for the future days of weakness and old age was the strong arm of some soldier boy at the front, this song struck a chord that was very tender, and it was sung and whistled and played in street and theater and drawing-room throughout the entire country.
Sawyer’s songs were unique in that they were popular in both armies. They never contained a word of malice, and appealed to the universal human heart. At the close of the war a newspaper published at Milledgeville, Georgia, said of Sawyer’s songs, “His sentiments are fraught with the greatest tenderness, and never one word has he written about the South or the war that could wound the sore chords of a Southern heart.”
The most universally famous of all Sawyer’s songs was When this Cruel War is Over. As the long years of carnage dragged on, the fascination for the glamour and glory of war disappeared, and its horrid cruelty impressed people, North and South, more and more. Loving hearts in the army and at home caught up this song as an appropriate expression of the hunger for peace that was in their souls. A popular Southern song, When upon the Field of Glory, the words of which were written by J. H. Hewitt and the music by H. L. Schreiner, was an answer to this song of Sawyer’s. As it is one of the best of the songs of the Confederacy, it is worth repetition here:—
“When upon the field of glory,
’Mid the battle cry,
And the smoke of cannon curling
Round the mountain high;
Then sweet mem’ries will come o’er me,
Painting home and thee,
Nerving me to deeds of daring,
Struggling to be free.
Weep no longer, dearest,
Tears are now in vain.
When this cruel war is over
We may meet again.
“Oft I think of joys departed,
Oft I think of thee;
When night’s sisters throw around me,
Their star’d canopy.
Dreams so dear come o’er my pillow,
Bringing up the past,
Oh! how sweet the soldier’s visions!
Oh! how short they last!
“When I stand a lonely picket,
Gazing on the moon,
As she walks her starry pathway,
In night’s silent noon;
I will think that thou art looking
On her placid face,
Then our tho’ts will meet together,
In a heav’nly place.
“When the bullet, swiftly flying
Thro’ the murky air,
Hits its mark, my sorrow’d bosom,
Leaving death’s pang there;
Then my tho’ts on thee will turn, love,
While I prostrate lie.
My pale lips shall breathe, ‘God bless thee—
For our cause I die!’
Weep then for me, dearest,
When I’m free from pain;
When this cruel war is over,
In heav’n we’ll meet again.”