Must I die so soon? ah, far away
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little group waits patiently
Till this sad war is o'er;
A little face is often pressed
Against the window pane,
Oh, chaplain only tell me this
Shall I see my boy again?
Must I never press close to my heart
The rings of shining hair,
Or listen to my bright-eyed child
Whisper his evening prayer,
Shall I never hear his bounding step
Across the cottage floor?
It were not hard to die, chaplain,
Could I see my boy once more.
When morning broke with solemn tread
On old Potomac's banks,
His comrades laid the soldier down -
Discharged from the ranks,
But many a day o'er western hills,
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little boy will patient wait,
When this sad war is o'er.
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little group waits patiently
Till this sad war is o'er;
A little face is often pressed
Against the window pane,
Oh, chaplain only tell me this
Shall I see my boy again?
Must I never press close to my heart
The rings of shining hair,
Or listen to my bright-eyed child
Whisper his evening prayer,
Shall I never hear his bounding step
Across the cottage floor?
It were not hard to die, chaplain,
Could I see my boy once more.
When morning broke with solemn tread
On old Potomac's banks,
His comrades laid the soldier down -
Discharged from the ranks,
But many a day o'er western hills,
By blue Ohio's shore,
A little boy will patient wait,
When this sad war is o'er.
Notes
This poem appeared in the Burlington Sentinel. along with the following notation:
A soldier of the Army of the Potomac was dying of fever, and being informed by the chaplain that he had but a few hours to live, he raised his homesick eyes with a world of tenderness in their shadowy depths, to the chaplain's face, asking sadly: "And never see my little boy again?"
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Comments
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Almost 150 years later and there are still soldiers of so many nations around this globe (as well as parents at home) who are asking themselves the same question. Shall I see my boy again?
Eloquently melancholy words from this unknown writer.
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This poem brought a tear I haver to admit. A sad, poignant poem of the dying Father and the little boy waiting patiently, hoping each day. Very sad scenario.



