The Battle is O'er
DEC. 1863.ADDRESS OF THE AUTHOR, A. ANDERSON, No. 420 South Tenth Street, Philadelphia, where all Ballads bearing his name may be had; also, all the most Popular Songs of the times, Wholesale and Retail.
The Battle is O’er.
The Battle is over, and the daylight has fled,
The starlits of heaven bespangle the sky;
The nocturnal curtain hangs out o’er the dead,
And convoys of angels descending the sky.
The confusion of battle—the cannon’s loud roar,
The rumbling of chariots hath ceased for the night,
The war-broken regiments retire in gore;
The scenes of the battle-field now hid from their sight.
In the darkness of midnight, how mournful the tones,
The cries of the wounded still light on my ear;
But hark! ’tis a father, “my dear little ones,”
Their “ambrotypes grasping” of children most dear.
Now hearken, O list to that audible sound,
“Lord help me,” “O water,” “I thirst,” “can I live?”
“Is the morning most here?” “O mortal, my wound,”
“I am wounded now dying,” “relief who can give.”
“My comrade in battle, now fallen with thee,”
“But victory is ours—the foe is in flight;”
“O mother,” “my sisters,” “no more I shall see,”
“I’m wounded and dying alone in the night.”
The grey light of morn at length now is seen,
But thousands ere this in death have been sealed;
The light now discloses the horrible scene,
The funeral pile,—the slain on the field.
The wounded now cared for—the dead all around,
In motionless silence reposing in sleep;
Their sword and their musket, their carbines are found,
Near by the brave Heroes we gaze but to weep.
Now the heroes entombed—for them drop a tear—
Their name in our memory for ever shall bloom;
The grave of our heroes most sacred and dear,
A halo of glory now lights up their tomb.