In a little town, as the sun went down, stood a mother and her son.
And her tears fell fast, as the bugle blast, from afar called her only one.
“Mother dear” he cries, “dry your dear old eyes, I’ll come marching home to you,
And some day perhaps, you’ll be proud of Taps, in his bright uniform of blue.”
When she hears the bugle calling as the boys go marching by,
Then her tears are gently falling from her heart there comes a sigh
By the fireside she is dreaming
They will meet someday perhaps
While amid the campfires gleaming lies a little boy called Taps.
‘Mid the battle’s strife, fighting life for life, one by one the soldiers fall.
From the ranks of death with his parting breath,
Taps is sounding his final call.
There he lies that night, by the campfires light, with his bugle on his breast
And they raise their caps, as their own dear
Tap is laid to his final rest.
Madden, Edward and Morse, Theodore, "Little Boy Called 'Taps', A" (1904). Historic Sheet Music Collection. 1420.
The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.