 | Songs of two centuries |  |
105
DO NOT FORGET THE WOUNDED.
Now, in the days of triumph, when victory's golden bells
Sweep like a song of gladness over the hills and dells,
Do not forget the wounded—the almost worse than slain,
Waging a fight, by day and night, with the slow, grim enemy—Pain!
Sweep like a song of gladness over the hills and dells,
Do not forget the wounded—the almost worse than slain,
Waging a fight, by day and night, with the slow, grim enemy—Pain!
Now, when the cities are safer because of their battles grand,
Now, when the mountains are sweeter because there is peace in the land,
Do not forget the sick men—lying in misery there,
Who made their fight for God and the right, in that blazing tropical glare!
Now, when the mountains are sweeter because there is peace in the land,
Do not forget the sick men—lying in misery there,
Who made their fight for God and the right, in that blazing tropical glare!
Far from their home and kindred—far from the joys of life,
Far from the restful soothing of mother, sister, or wife,
Alone because they were noble, in agony's fearful clutch—
Is there a gem too bright for them, or a help that costs too much?
Far from the restful soothing of mother, sister, or wife,
Alone because they were noble, in agony's fearful clutch—
Is there a gem too bright for them, or a help that costs too much?
Jewels and satins and laces—how sweetly they gleam above
The cherished forms and faces of those that we know and love!
But what were all of their splendor, if dimmed with deadly fear?
If fortress and town were beaten down, and the Spanish hosts were here?
The cherished forms and faces of those that we know and love!
But what were all of their splendor, if dimmed with deadly fear?
If fortress and town were beaten down, and the Spanish hosts were here?
Oh, it was grand and glorious to get the news of peace,
When from the Chief came sounding the words that war might cease;
Glad were the welcome tidings that sped o'er valley and hill;
But the wounds that were made by fever and blade, are aching and bleeding still!
When from the Chief came sounding the words that war might cease;
Glad were the welcome tidings that sped o'er valley and hill;
But the wounds that were made by fever and blade, are aching and bleeding still!
Greet the returning heroes and trim their pathway grand:
There's ne'er too good a gift for those who fight for their native land!
Honor to all the boys in blue and make their coming bright,
But never forget the heavy debt we owe to the boys in white!
There's ne'er too good a gift for those who fight for their native land!
Honor to all the boys in blue and make their coming bright,
But never forget the heavy debt we owe to the boys in white!
| Songs of two centuries | |