He's Gone to the Arms of Abraham

Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort St., N.Y.

He’s Gone To The Arms Of Abraham.

My true Love is a soldier
In the Army now to day.
It was this cruel War that made him
Have to go away.
The draft it was that took him.
And it was a heavy blow.
It took him for a Conscript,
But He didn't want to go.

He tried to be exempted,
A red head was his plea,
It was the same as being lame
In hollow tones said he,
The surgeon “couldn't see it"—
He said it was "no go."
But many say he might nave pass'd,
A greenback did he show.

He's gone to be a soldier,
With a knapsack on his back,
A fightin' for the Union
And a living on “hard tack"
Oh how he look'd like Christian.
In the Pilgrim's Progress shown,
With a bundle on his shoulders
But with nothiu' of his own.

O should he meet a rebel
A pointin' with his gun,
1 hope he may have courage
To “take care of number one"

If I were him I'd offer,
The fellow but a dram,
For what’s the use of dying,
Just for Jeff, or Abraham,

Indeed to be a soldier,
It Is so very hard,
For when a fellow has his fun,
They poke him on the guard,
One day he shot a rooster,
The Captain thought it wrong,
And so to punish him they made
Him Picket all night long.

I hav'nt got a lover now
I hav’nt got a beau.
They took him as a raw recruit,
But mustered him I know;
He's nothing but a private,
And not for war Inclined,
Although a hard old nut' to crack,
A Colonel you might find.

My true love is a soldier,
Upon the battle ground.
And if he ever should be lost
I hope he may he found,
If he should fall a fightin’,
Upon the battle plain
I hope some other chap may come
Au' pick him up again.

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