After the Battle, Mother

After the Battle Mother.

Still upon the field of battle
I am lying, mother dear,
With my wounded comrades waiting
For the morning to appear;
Many sleep to waken never,
In this world of strife and death,
And many more are faintly calling
With their feeble, dying breath.

Oh, the first great change was fearful,
And a thousand brave men fell,
Still, amid the dreadful careage,
I was safe from shot and shell;
So amid the fatal shower,
I had nearly passed the day,
When here the dreaded minnie struck me,
And I sunk amid the fray.

Oh, the glorious cheer of triumph,
When the foemen turned and fled,
Leaving us the field of battle,
Strewn with dying and with dead;
Oh, the torture and the anguish,
That I could not follow on,
But here, amid my fallen comrades,
I must wait till morning’s dawn.

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