[24370
No. 38.
Deposited Jan. 17th. 1863]
To the Mothers
OF THE FALLEN HEROES
"Is that Mother?" [17 Jan 1863; 21 Jan 1864]

Is that mother bending o'er me,
  As she sang my cradle hy,m--
Kneeling there in tears before me?
  Say?-- my sight is growing dim.

[Words-- anonymous]
Music by
M. G. BISBEE.

Geo. F. Swain [lithographer]
Philadelphia
Published by J. E. GOULD, 7th. & Chestnut St.
Boston. O. DITSON & Co.
[COPYRIGHT
Jan 21 1864
LIBRARY]
[M 1640
  .B]
Porter [engraver]
[Source: civilwardigital.com]

 “Among the many brave fellows who were brought up from 
Fredericksburg, was a bright eyed, intelligentyoung lad of 16 
years, who belonged to a Northern Regiment, manifestly the pet 
of some Household, he longed for nothing so much as the arrival 
of his Mother, who was expected, for he knew he was mortally
wounded and failing fast;  Ere she arrived however he died, but 
he thought she had come, for while a kind lady was soothing his 
dying moments, he rallied a little, looked up, longingly and 
joyfully, and in the tenderest pathos whispered audibly— ‘Is 
that Mother?” in tones that drew tears from every eye, then
drawing her towards him he nestled his head in her arms, and 
thus died with the sweet word “Mother!” on his lips!'
                                 _Letter from Washingon._

1. Is that mother? bending o’er me,
  As she samg my cradle hymn—
Kneeling there in tears before me,
  Say! my sight is growing dim.

CHORUS 1-5.
Savious breathe on my thy blessing,
Angels waft me to thy nest;
Where no more the dim of battle,
Shall disturb the patriot’s breast.

2. Comes she from the old home lowly,
  Out among the northern hills,
To her pet boy, dying slowly,
  Of war’s battle wounds and ills!

3. Mother! oh, we bravely battled—
  Battled till the day was done;
While the leaden hailstorm rattled—
  Man to man and gun to gun.

4. But we failed— and I am dying—
  Dying in my boyhood’s years—
There— no weeping, selfdenying—
  Noble deaths demand no tears!

5. Fold your arms again around me;
  Press again my aching head;
Sing the lullaby you sang me—
  Kiss me mother, ere I’m dead!