"The
Dying
Mother's Advice
to Her
Volunteer Son" (1863)
[Written? and]
Composed by
A[doniram]. J[udson]. Higgins [1828-?]

Chicago, IL: JOHN R. WALSH, Cor. Madison St.,
  and Custom House Place
Jospeph Coceroft, Book and Music Printer and
  Stereotyper, 47 Clark st.
[Source: 087/129@Levy]

1. Draw nearer to my couch, my boy,
  And place thy hand in mine,
That I may bless thee e’er I die,
  And pray for aid divine,
To shield thee and to nerve thy arm,
  Wherever thou mayst go;
To fight, as fought your noble sires,
  And crush the haughty foe:
    To shield thee, and to nerve thy arm,
      Wherever thou mayest go,
    To fight, as fought your noble sires,
      And crush the haughty foe.

2. Reemember while these wither’d arms,
  Now buckle on your sword,
That freedom’s battles bravely fought,
  Are battles of the Lord.
Your fathers wore the sword your wear,
  And by his gallant name,
And by our Country’s cause, my son,
  O! sheath it not in shame:
    Your fathers wore the sword your wear,
      And by his gallant name,
    And by our Country’s cause, my son,
      O! sheath it not in shame:

3. These wrinkled cheeks have watered been
  By many a bitter tear,
But I must part, as mothers part,
  With all they hold most dear.
But while my lips can utter words,
  My earnest prayer shall be,
That God will shower His blessingsdown,
  My only son, on thee.
    But while my lips can utter words,
      My earnest prayer shall be,
    That God will shower His blessingsdown,
      My only son, on thee.

4. We cannot lift the vail that hides
  The future from our view;
Yet, guerdons bright await the brave,
  Who honor’s path pursue.
So, to your duty go, my son,
  We never more can meet,
For chilling frosts of death, I feel,
  Are freezing at my feet.
    So, to your duty go, my son,
      We never more can meet,
    For chilling frosts of death, I feel,
      Are freezing at my feet.

5. Dry up those manly tears you shed,
  Your dying mother, kiss;
You leave for scenes of strife and blood—
  And I for endless bliss.
Once more embrace before we part,
  A last and long adieu,
Whatever by thy fate, my son,
  Be to thy Country— True.
    Once more embrace before we part,
      A last and long adieu,
    Whatever by thy fate, my son,
      Be to thy Country— True.