Songs of the War
by
Private Miles O'Reill,

Sambo's right toi be kilt;
Respectfully Dedciated
to Gen. David Hunter

Song of the Soldiers;
To the Army of the Potomac.

THE REVIEW
"Morituri te Salutant"
[Those about to die salute you]
To the Officers & Members of the
OLD TENTH ARMY CORPS.

Our Lady of the Hospital;
To the Women of America

The Swords were Thirty Seven.
Afectionately inscribed to his friend & former Custodian
Lieut. Col. Jon. F. Hall.

"Our Lady of the Hospital" (1864)
Words by "Private" Miles O'Reilly.
Music by H[arrison]. Millard. [1830-1895]

New York: W[illia]m. Hall & Son, 543 Broadway
New Haven: Shinner & Sperry
Chicago: Root & Cady
Rochester: J. P. Shaw
Lith. of Hnery C. Eno 37 Park Row N.Y.
Plate Number: 5958
[Source: 089/104@Levy]

1. She sits in our long dark ward
By the light of a shaded lamp,
No sound but the cry of relieving guard
And the sentinels’ heavy tramp:

No sound but that of relieving guard
And the wild waves that unceasingly roar
For miles upon miles each side of our ward,
On the level and wasting shore.

2. We lie her in shadow and gloom.
No light but theat speck of a lamp—
And silent, for three hours back as the tomb
Are the songs that late came from the camp:

Chill are these hospital tents and sheds
And then the silence is dreadfully deep,
Save a groan as our wounded turn in their lone beds,
Or talk in their troubled sleep.

3. Dozens of men— ’twas a sorry sight—
In the trenches I’ve helped to lay;
Tall, comely lads, in their youth still bright,
And old men with heads that were grey;

There, friends and foes oft are pack’d side by side
Laid on the battle fields common rough bier,
But I’m thankful at heart that one poor boy died
With the knowledge that she was near.

4. The ward is silent again,
As our lady resumes her place,
And I see, as a watch her, a patient pain,
That is pitiful in her face.

Lily of beauty, too bright for a camp,
O, saint that ever our sorrows will share?
Now I see by the light of the shaded lamp,
Tears fall on the page of her prayer.