Henry Clay Work

Father, dear father, come home with me now! The clock in the steeple strikes three; The house is so lonely, the hours are so long For poor weeping mother and me. Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead, And gone with the angels of light;

It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, And was always his treasure and pride; But it stopp'd short never to go again When the old man died.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! we bring the Jubilee! Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes you free!" So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, While we were marching through Georgia.