George F. Root
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.
Oh, I long to see you, Mother,
and the loving ones at home,
But I'll never leave our banner till in honor 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 nobly perish there.