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 | City Festivals |  |
HEAR THE DRUMS MARCH BY.
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums march by!
This is Decoration Day. Hurry, and be spry!
Wheel me to the window, girl; fling it open high!
Crippled of the body, now, and blinded of the eye,
Sarah, let me listen while the drums march by.
This is Decoration Day. Hurry, and be spry!
Wheel me to the window, girl; fling it open high!
Crippled of the body, now, and blinded of the eye,
Sarah, let me listen while the drums march by.
Hear 'em; how they roll! I can feel 'em in my soul.
Hear the beat—beat—o' the boots on the street;
Hear the sweet fife cut the air like a knife;
Hear the tones grand of the words of command;
Hear the walls nigh shout back their reply;
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums dance by!
Blind as a bat, I can see 'em for all that;
Old Colonel Ray, stately an' gray,
Riding, slow and solemn, at head of the column;
There's Major Bell, sober now, and well;
Old Lengthy Bragg, still a-bearing of the flag;
There's old Strong, that I tented with so long;
There's the whole crowd, hearty an' proud!
Hey, boys, say! can't you glance up this way?
Here's an old comrade, crippled now, and gray!
This is too much. Girl, throw me my crutch!
I can see—I can walk—I can march—I could fly!
No, I won't sit still an' let the boys march by!
Hear the beat—beat—o' the boots on the street;
Hear the sweet fife cut the air like a knife;
Hear the tones grand of the words of command;
Hear the walls nigh shout back their reply;
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums dance by!
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Old Colonel Ray, stately an' gray,
Riding, slow and solemn, at head of the column;
There's Major Bell, sober now, and well;
Old Lengthy Bragg, still a-bearing of the flag;
There's old Strong, that I tented with so long;
There's the whole crowd, hearty an' proud!
Hey, boys, say! can't you glance up this way?
Here's an old comrade, crippled now, and gray!
This is too much. Girl, throw me my crutch!
I can see—I can walk—I can march—I could fly!
No, I won't sit still an' let the boys march by!
Oh! I fall and I flinch; I can't go an inch!
No use to flutter; no use to try.
Where's my strength? Hunt down at the front;
There's where I left it. No need to sigh;
All the milk's spilt; there's no use to cry.
Plague o' these tears, and the moaning in my ears!
Part of a war is to suffer and to die;
I must sit still, and let the drums march by.
No use to flutter; no use to try.
Where's my strength? Hunt down at the front;
There's where I left it. No need to sigh;
All the milk's spilt; there's no use to cry.
Plague o' these tears, and the moaning in my ears!
Part of a war is to suffer and to die;
I must sit still, and let the drums march by.
Part of a war is to suffer and to die—
Suffer and to die—suffer and to—Why!
Of all the crowd I just yelled at so loud,
There's hardly a one but is killed, dead, and gone!
All the old regiment, excepting only I,
Marched out of sight in the country of the night.
That was a spectre band went past so grand.
All the old boys are a-tenting in the sky—
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums moan by!
Suffer and to die—suffer and to—Why!
Of all the crowd I just yelled at so loud,
There's hardly a one but is killed, dead, and gone!
All the old regiment, excepting only I,
Marched out of sight in the country of the night.
That was a spectre band went past so grand.
All the old boys are a-tenting in the sky—
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums moan by!
| City Festivals | |