Little Major |
Henry Clay Work, 1862
At his post, the "Little Major" Dropp'd his drum, that battle-day; On the grass, all stain'd with crimson, Through that battle-night he lay Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus, Grant me but this little boon! Can you, friend, refuse me water? Can you, when I die so soon?" Chorus: Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus, Grant me but this little boon! Can you, friend, refuse me water? Can you, when I die so soon?"
2. They are none to hear or help him |
3. Now the lights are flashing round him, And he hears a loyal word, Strangers they, whose lips pronouce it, Yet he trusts his voice is heard. It is heard--Oh, God forgive them! They refuse his dying pray'r! "Nothing but a wounded drummer," So they say, and leave him there Chorus:
4. See! the moon that shone above him, |