Back of the boy is Wilson,
Pledge of his high degree,
Back of the boy is Lincoln,
read more

Back of the boy is Wilson,
Pledge of his high degree,
Back of the boy is Lincoln,
Lincoln and Grant and Lee;
Back of the boy is Jackson,
Jackson and Tippecanoe,
Back of each son is Washington,
And the old red, white and blue!

Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!

Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred read more

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!

You led our sons across the haunted flood,
Into the Canaan of their high desire--
No milk read more

You led our sons across the haunted flood,
Into the Canaan of their high desire--
No milk and honey there, but tears and blood
Flowed where the hosts of evil trod in fire,
And left a worse than desert where they passed.

I have seen men march to the wars, and then
I have watched their homeward tread,
And read more

I have seen men march to the wars, and then
I have watched their homeward tread,
And they brought back bodies of living men,
But their eyes were fold and dead.
So, Buddy no matter what else the fame,
No matter what else the prize,
I want you to come back thru The Flame
With the boy-look still in your eyes!

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven.

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven.

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter
tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let read more

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter
tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and
lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot
bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from
one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have
had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant
thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the
drawers."

The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I read more

The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I trust.

"Why me?" That is the soldier's first question, asked each morning as the patrols go out and each evening as read more

"Why me?" That is the soldier's first question, asked each morning as the patrols go out and each evening as the night settles around the foxholes.