When the daylight fades on the tented field, <br />And the campfire cheerfully burns, <br />Then the Soldier's thought, like a carrier dove, <br />To his own love home returns; <br />Like a carrier dove -- a carrier dove, <br />And gleams beyond the foam, <br />So a light springs up in the Soldier's heart, <br />As he thinks of the Girls at Home. <br /> <br />When the shadows dance on the canvas walls, <br />And the camp with melody rings, <br />'Tis the good old song of the Stars and Stripes, <br />That the fireside circle sings; <br />Of the Stars and Stripes -- the Stars and Stripes -- <br />For love of which they roam; <br />But the final song and the sweetest one, <br />Is the song of the Girls at Home. <br /> <br />Now the silver rays of a setting moon, <br />Thru' the lofty sycamores creep, <br />And the fires burn low, and the sentries watch <br />O'er the arm-ed host a-sleep; <br />And the sentries watch -- the sentries watch -- <br />Till morning gilds the dome; <br />Till the rattling drum shall the sleepers rouse <br />From the dream of the Girls at Home.<br /><br />Henry Clay Work<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-girls-at-home/
