At his post, the "Little Major"
Dropp'd his drum, that battle-day;
On the grass, all stain'd with crimson,
Through that battle-night he lay--
Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"

Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"

They are none to hear or help him--
All his friends were early fled,
Save the forms, outstrech'd around him,

One more little spirit to Heaven has flown,
To dwell in that mansion above,
Where dear little angels, together roam,
In God's everlasting love.
II
One little flower has withered and died,
A bud near ready to bloom,
Its life on earth is marked with pride;
Oh, sad it should die so soon.
III
Sweet little Libbie, that precious flower
Was a pride in her parents' home,
They miss their little girl every hour,
Those friends that are left to mourn.
IV
Her sweet silvery voice no more is heard
In the home where she once roamed;

Air -- "Minnie Lee"

I
Oh! come listen to my story
Of a little infant child --
His spirit is in glory --
It has left us for a while.
Death has robbed us of our Henry,
He is with our Savior now,
Where there is no pain or sorrow
Comes to cloud his little brow.
II
CHORUS:

God has took their little treasure,
And his name I'll tell you now,
He has gone from earth forever,
Their little Charles Henry House.
III
His cheeks were red as roses,
And his eyes were black as coals,

Winifred Waters sat and sighed
Under a weeping willow;
When she went to bed she cried,
Wetting all the pillow;

Kept on crying night and day,
Till her friends lost patience;
"What shall we do to stop her, pray?"
So said her relations.

Send her to the sandy plains,
In the zone called torrid:
Send her where it never rains,
Where the heat is horrid.

Mind that she has only flour
For her daily feeding;
Let her have a page an hour
Of the driest reading,--

Navigation, logarithm,

Little Charlie Hades has gone
To dwell with God above,
Where live the little angel throng
In perfect peace and love.
His little spirit now is free,
Free from all earthly pain;
His little form no more can be
In the bright earth again.
II
His little life was short on earth,
Being but three years old;
His little form so full of mirth,
Now the cold earth enfold.
In her embrace she gently keeps
His form she calls her own,
There sweetly sleeping his last sleep,
Quietly all alone.
III
His laughing eyes of violet blue,

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamed of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,--

Air -- "Gypsy's Warning"
I
Andrew was a little infant,
And his life was two years old;
He was his parents' eldest boy,
And he was drowned, I was told.
His parents never more can see him
In this world of grief and pain,
And Oh! they will not forget him
While on earth they do remain.
On one bright and pleasant morning
His uncle thought it would be nice
To take his dear little nephew
Down to play upon a raft,
Where he was to work upon it,
An this little child would company be --
The raft the water rushed around it,

Listen, my friend, this road is the heart opening,
kissing his feet, resistance broken, tears all night.

If we could reach the Lord through immersion in water,
I would have asked to be born a fish in this life.
If we could reach Him through nothing but berries and wild nuts
then surely the saints would have been monkeys when they came from the womb!
If we could reach him by munching lettuce and dry leaves
then the goats would surely get to the Holy One before us!

If the worship of stone statues could bring us all the way,

And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.

And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.