WAR LYRICS.
"And how is this, my little chit?"
The sturdy trooper straight repeated,—
"When all the village cheers us on,
That you, in tears, apart are seated?
"We march two hundred thousand strong!
And that ’s a sight, my baby beauty,
To quicken silence into song,
And glorify the soldier’s duty."
"It’s very, very grand, I know,"
The little maid gave soft replying;
"And father, mother, brother, too,
All say ‘hurrah’ while I am crying.
"But think—O Mr. Soldier, think,
How many little sisters’ brothers
Are going all away to fight,
And may be killed, as well as others!"
"Why, bless thee, child," the sergeant said,
His brawny hand her curls caressing,
"’Tis left for little ones like you
To find that war’s not all a blessing."
And "bless thee!" once again he cried;
Then cleared his throat and looked indignant,
And marched away with wrinkled brow
To stop the struggling tear benignant.
And still the ringing shouts went up
From doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage;
The pall behind the standard seen
By one alone, of all the village.
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