This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1864 Excerpt: ...in peace, not bloodshed, up to a peaceful God. Let me be poor and labor, but never, O my son, Stand in the strife of nations, or wear a bloodbought crown." Thus shall it be, dear mother, I will your words obey: Life's mission unaccomplished, I soon shall pass away. My heart's dream must be ended; my hopes be buried now ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1864 Excerpt: ...in peace, not bloodshed, up to a peaceful God. Let me be poor and labor, but never, O my son, Stand in the strife of nations, or wear a bloodbought crown." Thus shall it be, dear mother, I will your words obey: Life's mission unaccomplished, I soon shall pass away. My heart's dream must be ended; my hopes be buried now; And never see the red field, where I longed to lay me low; But, not till I had carved you a soldier's deathless name, And placed my mother highest upon the rolls of fame. I'll seek it not again, mother, but life for me grows dim: I shall lay me down in sorrow, and ne'er my laurels win." THK SOLDIER BOT. 81 "Oh, must it be, my only son? Go forth, and nobly stand For home, and God, and liberty, amid your Boldier band; And let a mother's yearnings and prayers about you shine, And lead you on your journey, as with a hand divine. You will often think of me, Charlie, when, at the sunset hour, You kneel, in heartfelt worship, to beg Jehovah's power. You will let the name of mother be that which guides you on, Next to the name of Jesus, until your crown is won. I shall never live to see you, when to our cot you come; For I shall then have journeyed to a brighter, holier home. You'll see the lovely flowers, that bloom about our lowly door, Will have faded; and the woodbine will clasp our home no more. 82 THE SOLDIER BOY. The stones will wear their mossy garb, and the birds, that used to sing, Will have fled the withering branches, and sought a brighter spring. Close beside the wasted cottage, you will find a little mound; No stone will be upon it, no flower will deck the ground; But the weeds will grow above it, and the form of her you love Will have mouldered back to ashes, when she has gone above. You will not forget her, ever, my on...
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