our answer;
To my fate I meekly bow,
If you'll only tell me truly
Who will care for mother now?

CHORUS.

Soon with angels I'll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow;
I have for my country fallen;
Who will care for mother now?

Who will comfort her in sorrow?
Who will dry the falling tear,
Gently smooth her wrinkled forehead?
Who will whisper words of cheer?
Even now I think I see her
Kneeling, praying for me! how
Can I leave her in anguish?
Who will care for mother now?--CHORUS.

Let this knapsack be my pillow,
And my mantle be the sky;
Hasten, comrades, to the battle!
I will like a soldier die.
Soon with angels I'll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow;
I have for my country fallen;
Who will care for mother now?--CHORUS.

[Illustration: 25TH CORPS.]

WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.

(Used by permission.)

KEY OF C.

[Illustration: MAJ. GEN'L FRANK P. BLAIR.]

Dearest love, do you remember!
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! how proud you stood before me,
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true.

CHORUS.

Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain;
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again.

When the summer breeze is sighing,
Mournfully along!
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying;
Calling, but in vain.--CHORUS.

If amid the din of battle
Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you,
None to hear you call,
Who would whisper words of comfort,
Who would soothe your pain?
Ah! the many cruel fancies
Ever in my brain.--CHORUS.

But our country called you, darling,
Angels cheer your way,
While our nation's sons are fighting
We can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and liberty,
Let all nations see
How we love our starry banner,
Emblem of the free.--CHORUS.

[Illustration: SIGNAL CORPS.]

[Illustration: CANISTER.]

WE ARE COMING, FATHER ABRAHAM.

(Used by permission of S. Brainard's Sons, owners of the copyright.)

[Illustration: LINCOLN.]

We are coming, Father Abraham--three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silen