A SOLDIER of the rebels lay dying in the field;
A brave but sturdy fighter, he could fall but could not yield.
But a comrade stood beside him while his life-blood trickled fast,
And bent, with pitying glances, to wrap him in my last,
Seeking his country’s glory, e’en in the cannon’s mouth.
Though in the midst of bloodshed, my first stood for the South.
The dying soldier faltered as he took his comrade’s hand,
Saying, “Make my whole, my brother, it is my last command.”