Among the dear old friends we people cherish
Within the highest portals of our hearts,
The name that sounds as dear as dear old mother's
Is Lincoln's name, from us 'twill ne'er depart.

When first I heard of Lincoln and the Yankee
My heart then reached the zenith of its joy,
And in this heart of mine it quickly nestled,
My love for them no force can quite destroy.

Lord, if these rolling waves of time and pleasure
Should dash against their sacred nestling place,
Pray with Thy powerful hand stay it and guide us;
May nothing from my heart their love erase.

Ye men that fought and still are living,
And in whose veins the Yankee blood holds sway;
Within our hearts for thee there lives a kindness
That will not be erased till judgment day.

Ye mortals now who lie in grave and trenches,
Who fell to free this helpless negro race;
No mortal name like thine we hold in reverence,
Within our hearts thou hast a sacred place.

It's not my wish to call your soul from heaven,
But could I call your body from the ground;
On earth thou might'st live on in peace for ages,
With sweetest oil I'd daily balm your wounds.

Oh, mothers, now so loving and so happy,
Ye people whom the Northern race hast freed;
Pray grasp your loving infant from the cradle,
And tell them of the Yankees' blessed deed.