| Just before the battle, Mother,
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| I am thinking most of you
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| While upon the fields we’re watching,
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| With the enemy in view
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| Comrades, brave, are round me lying
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| Filled with thoughts of home and God
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| For well they know that on the morrow
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| Some will sleep beneath the sod
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| Farewell, Mother, you may never
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| Press me to your heart again
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| But, oh, you’ll not forget me, Mother
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| If I’m numbered with the slain
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| Hark, I hear the bugels sounding
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| 'Tis the signal for the fight
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| Now may God protect us, Mother
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| As he ever does the right
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| Hear the battle cry of freedom
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| How it swells up in the air
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| Yes, we’ll rally round the standard
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| Or we’ll perish nobly there
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| Farewell, Mother, you may never
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| Press me to your heart again
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| But, oh, you’ll not forget me, Mother
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| If I’m numbered with the slain |