Difference between revisions of "Fore the battle"

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* The song "Just Before the Battle", written in the 1860s by George F. Root. Lyrics are as follows.
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* '''Battle:''' river in Canada
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* "'''Just Before the Battle:'''" a song written in the 1860s by George F. Root and popular during the American Civil War. It was used as an anthem in Britain by the pro-colonialist Primrose League, a pro-colonialist group:
  
 
     Just before the battle, mother,
 
     Just before the battle, mother,
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     For well they know that on the morrow,
 
     For well they know that on the morrow,
 
     Some will sleep beneath the sod.
 
     Some will sleep beneath the sod.
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    CHORUS:
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    Farewell, mother, you may never
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    Press me to your breast again,
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    But, oh, you'll not forget me, mother,
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    If I'm numbered with the slain.
  
        CHORUS:
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[[Category: Songs and lyrics]]
        Farewell, mother, you may never
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[[Category: Rivers]]
        Press me to your breast again,
 
        But, oh, you'll not forget me, mother,
 
        If I'm numbered with the slain.
 
 
 
    Oh, I long to see you, mother,
 
    And the loving ones at home,
 
    But I'll never leave our banner,
 
    Till in honor I can come.
 
    Tell the traitors all around you
 
    That their cruel words we know,
 
    In every battle kill our soldiers
 
    By the help they give the foe.
 
 
 
    Hark! I hear the bugles sounding,
 
    'Tis the signal for the fight,
 
    Now, may God protect us, mother,
 
    As He ever does the right.
 
    Hear the "Battle-Cry of Freedom,"
 
    How it swells upon the air,
 
    Oh, yes, we'll rally 'round the standard,
 
    Or we'll perish nobly there.
 

Latest revision as of 15:22, 19 January 2014

  • Battle: river in Canada
  • "Just Before the Battle:" a song written in the 1860s by George F. Root and popular during the American Civil War. It was used as an anthem in Britain by the pro-colonialist Primrose League, a pro-colonialist group:
   Just before the battle, mother,
   I am thinking most of you,
   While upon the field we're watching
   With the enemy in view.
   Comrades brave are 'round me lying,
   Filled with thoughts of home and God
   For well they know that on the morrow,
   Some will sleep beneath the sod.
  
   CHORUS:
   Farewell, mother, you may never
   Press me to your breast again,
   But, oh, you'll not forget me, mother,
   If I'm numbered with the slain.