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Tramp, Tramp, Tramp

George F. Root, 1864

In a prison cell I sit, thinking, mother dear, of you
And our bright and happy home so far away,
And the tears they fill my eyes, spite of all that I can do,
Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay

Tramp, tramp, tramp the boys are marching,
Cheer up comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag,
We shall breath the air again,
Of the free land in our own beloved home.

In the battle front we stood, when the fiercest charge they made,
And they swept us off a hundred men or more,
But before we reached their lines, they were beaten back dismayed,
And we heard the cry of victory o'er and o'er

So within a prison cell, we are waiting for the day,
That shall come to open wide the iron door,
And the hollow eyes grow bright, and the poor heart almost gay,
And we think of seeing friends and home once more.

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