Return to Songs Index


George F. Root, 1863

Just before the battle, mother,
I am thinking most of you,
While, upon the field, we're watching,
With the enemy in view.
Comrades brave are round me lying,
Filled with thoughts of home and God;
For well they know that, on the morrow,
Some will sleep beneath the sod.

Farewell, mother, you may never,
Press me to your breast again;
But O, you'll not forget me,
If I'm numbered with the slain.

Oh, I long to see you, Mother,
And the loving ones at home,
But I'll never leave our banner,
Till in honour I can come.
Tell the traitors all around you
That their cruel words we know,
In every battle kill our soldiers
By the help they give the foe.

Hark! I hear the bugles sounding.
'Tis the signal for the fight,
Now, may God protect us, Mother,
As he ever does the right.
Hear the "Battle Cry of Freedom,"
How it swells upon the air,
Oh, yes we'll rally 'round the standard,
Or we'll perish nobly there.

Download Music File