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[105] “No, ma'am, not a bit; nobody is like my mother.” The packing of his little knapsack reminds me of

The jacket of gray.

Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride,
For dear must it be to our hearts evermore,
The jacket of gray, our loved soldier-boy wore.

Can we ever forget when he joined the brave band
Who rose in defence of our dear Southern land,
And in his bright youth hurried on to the fray-
How proudly he donned it, the jacket of gray?

His fond mother blessed him, and looked up above,
Commending to Heaven the child of her love;
What anguish was hers, mortal tongue may not say,
When he passed from her sight in his jacket of gray.

But his country had called him, she would not repine,
Though costly the sacrifice placed on its shrine;
Her heart's dearest hopes on the altar she lay,
When she sent out her boy in his jacket of gray.

Months passed, and war's thunders rolled over the land,
Unsheathed was the sword, and lighted the brand;
We heard in the distance the sound of the fray,
And prayed for our boy in the jacket of gray.

Ah, vain, all in vain, were our prayers and our tears;
The glad shout of victory rang in our ears;
But our treasured one on the battle-field lay,
While the life-blood oozed out on the jacket of gray.

Fold it up carefully, lay it aside,
Tenderly touch it, look on it with pride,

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