essee, Shall play for you the reveille.” 'Twas many a weary march was made, To sound of drum and fife, And well the “drummer-boy” essayed To play the march of life; Each soldier loved and sought to share Their part of good with him; The fifer on his back did bear Across each swollen stream This “drummer-boy” from Tennessee, Who beat with him the reveille. But came the battle-shock, and doom Of one great “Lyon” heart, The victor's shout — the victim's groan, Fulfilled their fearful part! And, on that blood-stained field of woe The darkness threw its pall! The morning dawned on flying foe; When, list!--the “morning call!” Our “drummer-boy” from Tennessee, Beating for help the reveille! Upon the valley sod he lay Beside a lifeless foe, Whose dying hand had sought to stay The life-blood's ebbing flow: The quivering drum yet echoing The beating of his heart-- The encamping angel beckoning From drum and fife to part! And Eddie Lee, of Tennessee, Awaits the final reveille!
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