Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8.
Frank Moore, Ed.

[57] My small weak hand would waver
     The shortest sword to bear;
But he stands steady in the ranks,
     And holds his musket there.
My faint heart would falter
     The battle-ground to see;
But his is strong in freedom's might,
     He fights for her and me.

I am watching and waiting,
     As mothers watch and wait,
Whose sons are in the army now,
     And it is growing late.
My life's past its morning,
     It's near sunset in the sky--
Oh! I long once more to clasp him
     In my arms before I die.

Yet farther off the army goes--
     He will return no more,
Till our glorious flag is free again
     To float o'er sea and shore.
Where'er it waved in days gone by,
     Its folds again shall rest,
From the depths of the lowest valleys,
     To the highest mountain crest.

And he, my boy, my darling,
     The pride of my old heart!
Where'er his place may be, I know
     He will fulfil his part.
Not until the war is over
     Shall we meet in fond embrace.
Time, press swiftly on the hours,
     Till I see his pleasant face!