See the gallant Drummer Boy,
How his face lights up with joy,
As he takes his envied place
In the corps of the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Patriot Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
All the children in the street
Strive with Clarie to compete,
As upon his drum he plays
In the corps of the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Warrior Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
Ah! but Clarie ’ll have to go
Where his own life-blood may flow,—
This he knows, yet firmly stays
In the corps of the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Faithful Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
Tho’ the direst ills betide,
Clarie’s heart beats high with pride
When he hears the shouts of praise
Echoing for the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Hero Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
Clarie’s bosom knew no fear,
Tho’ his eye betray’d a tear
When his Mother’s sadden’d gaze
Rested on the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Loving Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
“Never shall the traitor drag
From its height our Country’s Flag!”
Thus, he loyalty displays
In the corps of the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Brave young Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
Trusting in the God of love,
Clarie looks with faith above,
Pray’r and meekness guide his ways
In the corps of the National Greys.
Noble Clarie, Christian Clarie!
Drummer of the National Greys.
Hark! that musket’s direful sound!
See the fatal ball rebound!
Suddenly a piercing cry
Rends the air and cleaves the sky;
’Tis from Clarie, Martyr Clarie!
Loved of all the National Greys.
Tears, those Soldiers’ eyes suffuse;
Sad and solemn is the news;
Clarie rudely from them torn,—
From their ranks forever gone.
Mirthful Clarie, Buoyant Clarie!
Fav’rite with the National Greys.
Clarie now lies still and cold
(Only twelve brief summers old)
Low beneath the mould’ring sod,
But his soul has gone to God.
Gentle Clarie, Youthful Clarie!
Mourn’d of all the National Greys.
Muffled is the rolling drum,
Hush’d the busy children’s hum,
Agonized a father’s brow,—
All in deep submission bow.
Spirit Clarie, Blessed Clarie!
Gather’d with the angels now.
Sadden’d is the humble home,
There no more his step will come,
But his songs of praise will rise
In a home beyond the skies.
Happy Clarie, Ransom’d Clarie!
Seraph bright in Paradise.