Come not to me on a bed
Of pale-faced sickness and of pining;
Oh, clasp me close on the battle-field red,
Midst warrior’s shouts, and armour shining!
Let me not have priest nor bell,
Sable pomp, nor voice of wailing;
The roar of the cannon shall be my knell,
And tears with thee are unavailing.
Then clasp me close in the hottest strife,
Where the cut, and the stab, and the shot are rife!
May I fall on some great day,
With Freedom’s banner streaming o’er me!
Live but to shout for the victory,
And see the rout roll on before me,
And tyrants, from their greatness torn,
Beneath the scourge of justice smarting,
And gaze on Freedom’s glorious morn,
My soul to cheer before departing!
Oh, then my life might melt away;
In visions bright of liberty!
Samuel Bamford (1788 – 1872)
This poem was taken from Bamford’s book
“Homely Rhymes, Poems and Reminiscences.”
