[March 25, 1864]
[M1638
  .L]
"Brother, When Will You Come Back?" [25 Mar 1864]
Poetry and Music by E. W. LOCKE, 
the Army Poet and Balladist, author of
"We're marching down to Dixie's land,
"We're marching on to Richmond,"
"We we will no retreat any more,"
"Down by the Sea,", &c., &c.

Stephen Berry, Printer, foot of Exchange Street, Portland, Me.
[Source: civilwardigital.com]

1. The shadows of evening bring home to the hearth
The loved ones who patient have toiled through the day;
Though glad be the greetings, and hearty the mirth,
Our hearts ever turn to the Brother away;
We ask, Is he pacing the sentinelˆs beat,
Intent for a sign of the near lurking foe?
Or wearied with marching through mud, rain and sleet,
He lies in his blanket, his pillow the snow?

Brother, dear Brother! when will you come back—
Back to the hearts ever loving and true?
While your campfires are burning our fond hearts are yearning:
Brother, dear Brother! we’re praying for you;
  While your campfires are burning, our fond hearts are yearning:
  Brother, dear Brother! we’re praying for you.

2. The cold winds of winter sweep down from the hills,
With wailings more dismal than ever before;
We think of the blast that our soldier boy chills,
And sigh to divide him our basket and store.
We know that but little he heeds his hard lot;
His long, weary marches; his coarse, scanty fare;
The cannon’s loud thunder, the deathdealing shot,
But nerve him to suffer, to do, and to dare.

3. There’s many a soldier lies silent alone,
Uncoffined, unshrouded, beneath the damp clay;
His kinddred search vainly for headboard or stone,
Or some one to tell where his life ebbed away.
Though sad be the tidings from fields red with gore,
And Death reaps a harvest of brave and true men,
Dear Brother, stand firm till the contest is o’er,
Then rush to the arms that will clasp you again.