DIRGE FOR A YOUNG SOLDIER,
WHO DIED OF WOUNDS RECEIVED IN BATTLE.
LAY him gently to his rest,
Fold his hands upon his breast,
Smooth away the raven hair,
Clustering round the brow so fair,
Gaze upon him with a smile,
Though with breaking heart the while.
Fold his hands upon his breast,
Smooth away the raven hair,
Clustering round the brow so fair,
Gaze upon him with a smile,
Though with breaking heart the while.
Bear him to his quiet grave,
Gently bear him, young and brave,
Lay him by his mother's side,
She, who in his childhood died,
Liveth still, with angel joy,
Greeting now her darling boy.
Gently bear him, young and brave,
Lay him by his mother's side,
She, who in his childhood died,
Liveth still, with angel joy,
Greeting now her darling boy.
Song and story long shall tell
How our youthful hero fell,
Pitying eyes will oft grow dim,
Aching hearts will yearn for him,
Sleeping in his lowly bed,
With the turf above his head.
How our youthful hero fell,
Pitying eyes will oft grow dim,
Aching hearts will yearn for him,
Sleeping in his lowly bed,
With the turf above his head.
Give the soldier welcome home—
Weary feet no more will roam,
Throbbing brow and suffering limb
Never more will torture him—
Sweetly sleeping, finds he rest
Pillowed on the Saviour's breast.
Weary feet no more will roam,
Throbbing brow and suffering limb
Never more will torture him—
Sweetly sleeping, finds he rest
Pillowed on the Saviour's breast.