The Soldier and his Heart.


The Soldier and his Heart.

My beart is weary, sore, and sad,
No human friend known where to find me,
The sights and sounds that made me glad,
Have long been left so far behind me:
Yet oh, my heart, be strong and brave!

Amid the noisy, crowded camp,
Or on my lone and hard bed lying
When on the to some march we tramp,
Or when before the foe are flying,
Then, oh! my heart, be strong and good!

While dreaming on the cold wet ground
And with no tent but dark clonds o’er me,
Pacing the midst [ill] round
With toils and dangers thick before me;
Still, oh! my heart, be strong and firm!

Though poor, unknown, in need, opprest,
No sweet face near, no voice to praise me,
Imprisoned sick, beret, distrest,
No touch to thrill, no hand to raise me;
Now, oh! my hears, be strong and true!

And when I hear the last long shout,
My comrades in then triumph crying,
And then behold the foeman’s rout
While I sink, bloody, torn and dying,
Then, oh! my heart be strong and still!

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