Dedicated to Miss Lucy Parker, Greenwich Village, Mass.
"Little Major" (1862)
Words and Music by Henry Clay Work, No. 17

1.
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--
All his friends were early fled,
Save the forms, outstrech'd around him,
Of the dying and the dead.
Hush--they come! there falls a footstep!
How it makes his heart rejoice!
They will help, Oh, they will save him,
When they hear his fainting voice--

(CHORUS)

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,
Veils her face, as if in grief;
And the skies are sadly weeping--
Shielding teardrops of relief.
Yet to die, by friends forsaken,
With his last request denied--
This he felt his keenest anquish,
When at morn, he gasp'd and died--

(CHORUS)