The Tired Soldier

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

The Tired Soldier.

The tired soldier, bold and brave,
Now rests his weary feet,
And in the shelter of the grave,
Has found a safe retreat.
To him the trumpet’s piercing breath,
To arms, they call in vain;
He quartered in the arms of death,
He’ll never, never march again.

A boy he left his father’s home,
The chance of war to try.
O’er regions yet untrod to roam,
No friend or brother nigh;
Yet still he marched contented on,
‘Midst danger, death, and pain;
But now he’ll halt, his toil is done,
He’ll never march again.

The sweets of spring, by beauty’s hand,
Lie scattered o’er his bier;
His comrades, as they silent stand,
Give honest Ned a tear;
And lovely Kate, poor Ned’s delight,
Chief mourner of the train,
Cried, as she view’d the dreadful sight,
He’ll never march again.

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

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