Oh Northern Mothers Wives And Sisters, All

If I Were To Speak Of War, It Would Not Be To Show You The Glories Of Conquering Armies But The Mischief And Misery They Strew In Their Tracks; And How, While They Marched On With Tread Of Iron And Plumes Proudly Tossing In The Breeze, Some One Must Follow Closely In Their Steps, Crouching To The Earth, Toiling In The Rain And Darkness, Shelterless Themselves, With No Thought Of Pride Or Glory, Fame Or Praise, Or Reward; Hearts Breaking With Pity, Faces Bathed In Tears And Hands In Blood. This Is The Side Which History Never Shows.

I Don't Know How Long It Has Been Since My Ear Has Been Free From The Roll Of A Drum. It Is The Music I Sleep By, And I Love It.... I Shall Remain Here While Anyone Remains, And Do Whatever Comes To My Hand. I May Be Compelled To Face Danger, But Never Fear It, And While Our Soldiers Can Stand And Fight, I Can Stand And Feed And Nurse Them.

Let Me Go, Let Me Go.

What Armies And How Much Of War I Have Seen, What Thousands Of Marching Troops, What Fields Of Slain, What Prisons, What Hospitals, What Ruins, What Cities In Ashes, What Hunger And Nakedness, What Orphanages, What Widowhood, What Wrongs And What Vengeance.

Others Are Writing My Biography, And Let It Rest As They Elect To Make It. I Have Lived My Life, Well And Ill, Always Less Well Than I Wanted It To Be But It Is, As It Is, And As It Has Been; So Small A Thing, To Have Had So Much About It!