Heard you the sound of the muffled drum
And all the trumpets mournful blast
They tell that the time that the combatant's time has come

to all his dreams of glory past

Sealed till the last deep trumpet shake,

The earth with all its awful sound
Then shall the dead arousing, wake,
While even nature sinks around!


The mother weeps she weeps her beloved son,
Who was her hope her joy her pride

He was the one the widows only one
For him she surely would have died


Her pilgrimage is nearly past,
her every earthly woe,
like the ancient tree that falls at last

when wintry tempests blow

What marvel that she wildly cries

For the grave its prey to yield?
oh what avail are tears or sighs
his earthly doom is sealed.


Don't grieve for me
I'm not there

I am the gentle autumn rain
Hold up my lamp to light your way
farewell to thee