1.
On my lonely picket rounds,
When the silent stars are blinking,
Oft I look towards the south,
Of my home and lov’d ones thinking.
But of all the cherish’d throng,
If one’s dearer than the other,
’Tis that angel of my dreams­­
’Tis my mother, darling mother.

[REFRAIN]
Oh, I’m thinking of my mother,
My lov’d, my cherish’d gentle mother.

2.
When the battle’s raging fast,
When the guns their warnotes, mutter!
Then I call upon her name,
And a prayer for blessings utter!
Thoughts of her will nerve my arm,
And with shouts I can not smother,
On I rush ’mid carnage dire,
Calling­­ mother, darling mother!

[REFRAIN]
Oh, I’m thinking of my mother,
My lov’d, my cherish’d gentle mother.

3.
On my bed of straw I pine,
Nurs’d by strangers­­ wounded, dying;
Where’s the hand that found my brow,
Cool droughts to my lips applying?
Where’s the form that knealt in prayer,
Angel pleadings­­ like none other?
Come and soothe my aching brow,
Come, my mother, gentle, mother!

[REFRAIN]
Oh, I’m thinking of my mother,
My lov’d, my cherish’d gentle mother.

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