Dear comrades on my brow the hand of death is cast,
My breath is growing short, all pain will soon be past;
My soul will soar away to that bright land of bliss,
Far from the pain and woe of such a place as this.
I left my home and friends to battle with the foe,
To save the Southern land from misery and woe;
I gave my all (oh! not to win a name,
Or have it e'en enrolled upon the scroll of fame.)
Not so, I only wished a helper brave to be
To save the glorious South from cruel tyranny;
My soul with ardor burned the treacherous foe to fight
And take a noble stand for liberty and right.
But oh! how weak is man! It was not God's decree,
That I should longer live a helper brave to be,
Before another day I shall be with the dead,
And 'neath the grassy sod will be my lonely bed.
And should you see the friends that nurtured me in youth,
Tell them I tried to walk the ways of peace and truth;
O ! tell my mother kind the words that she has given,
Have led her wayward child to Jesus and to heaven.
Farewell! farewell! my friends my loving comrades dear,
I ask you not to drop for me one bitter tear;
The angels sweetly stand and beckon me to come,
To that bright land of bliss that heavenly realm my home.