| «Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad
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| On this glittering morn of May?»
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| «I'm going to join the Colors, Dad
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| They’re looking for men, they say.»
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| «But you’re only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad
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| You aren’t obliged to go.»
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| «Well, I’m seventeen and a quarter, Dad
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| And ever so strong, you know.»
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| «So you’re off to France, Young Fellow My Lad
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| And you’re looking so fit and bright.»
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| «I'm terribly sorry to leave you, dad
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| But I feel that I’m doing right.»
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| «God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad
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| You’re all of my life, you know.»
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| «Don't worry. |
| I’ll soon be back, dear dad
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| And I’m awfully proud to go.»
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| «Why don’t you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
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| I watch for the post each day;
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| And I miss you so and I’m awfully sad
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| And it’s months since you went away
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| And I’ve had the fire in the parlor lit
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| And I’m keeping it burning bright
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| Till my boy comes home, and here I sit
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| Into the quiet night.»
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| «What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
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| No letter again to-day
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| Why did the postman look so sad
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| And sigh as he turned away?
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| Well, I hear them tell that we’ve gained new ground
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| But a terrible price we’ve paid:
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| God grant, my boy, that you’re safe and sound;
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| But oh I’m afraid, afraid.»
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| «They've told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad
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| You’ll never come back again:
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| (Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I’ve had
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| And the hopes I’ve nursed in vain.)
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| For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad
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| And you proved in the cruel test
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| Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
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| That my boy was one of the best.»
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| «So you’ll live, you’ll live, Young Fellow My Lad
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| In the gleam of the evening star
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| In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child
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| In all sweet things that are
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| And you’ll never die, my wonderful boy
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| While life is noble and true:
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| For all our beauty and hope and joy
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| We will owe to our lads like you.» |