By E. Bowers. Music by Henry Tucker.

Dear mother, I remember well
The parting kiss you gave me,
When merry rang the village bell—
My heart was full of joy and glee:
I did not dream that one short year,
Would crush the hopes that soared so high!
Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
Dear mother, I’ve come home to die.
Chorus.—Call sister, brother, to my side,
And take your soldier’s last good-by.
Oh, mother dear, draw near to me;
Dear mother, I’ve come home to die.
Hark! Mother, ’tis the village bell,
I can no longer with thee stay;
My country calls to arms! to arms!
The foe advance in fierce array!
The vision’s past—I feel that now,
For country I can only sigh.
Oh, mother dear, draw near to me:
Dear mother, I’ve come home to die.
Chorus.

Dear mother, sister, brother, all,
One parting kiss—to all good-by:
Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,
And let me like a soldier die!
I’ve met the foe upon the field,
Where hosts contending scorned to fly;
I fought for right—God bless you all—
Dear mother, I’ve come home to die.
Chorus.

POLK.

By H. L. Flash.

A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
A puff of smoke, a roar,
Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
To the farthermost Christian shore,
Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
Will battle for right no more.
And that for a cause which is sanctified,
By the blood of martyrs unknown—
A cause for which they gave their lives,
And for which he gave his own—
He kneels, a meek ambassador,
At the foot of the Father’s throne.

“A flash from the edge of a hostile trench.”

And up to the courts of another world,
That angels alone have trod,
He lives away from the din and strife
Of this blood-besprinkled sod—
Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,
That is worn by the blest of God.