The Boy Soldier

O my sunny
Boy, my beauty,
Mad to strike a blow!
Not for money,
Not for duty
Would let thee go.

Spare the mother,
Growing hoary,
Not for long below;
Let another
Win the glory,
Rushing on the foe.

Ah, the ruddy
Soldier laddie,
Waking all aglow!
What a bloody
Slumber had he
Ere the sun was low!

Half a city,
Treading slowly,
Joined the funeral show.
Grant me pity,
Holy, holy
Comforter of woe!