Plaintively echoes the evening rain,
Dropping, dropping, from leaf to leaf,
From shutter to shutter, from pane to pane,
As if the city were full of grief.
The hurrying tramp of human feet
Is clinking along, but growing brief,
Till faint in distance it dies away,
Leaving the sound of rain on the leaf.
So on the spirit fresh tear-drops fall,
Dropping, dropping, from string to string;
Loved ones have gone at their country's call,
And deeply have left the parting sting.
Never again, while the hills are green,
Or whispering wave flits over the sea,
Or bird to its loving mate shall sing,
O woman! shall thine come back to thee!
Yes, the light of thy home shall be gone;
Sad and trembling thy footstep shall be;
And thy babe, as it catches thy moan,
Will nestle itself closer to thee.
Crushing in anguish thy gnawing pain,
Thou'lt kiss thy babe with a fond embrace,
While tears flow down like the evening rain,
Dropping, dropping, on its beautiful face.
By the hopes that were plighted in love--
By that babe which in sorrow thou'st borne--
By those whispers that come from above--
Firm to stand by his country he'd sworn.
His form they've wrapped in the starry shroud
And stripes that his fathers loved so well,
And laid him beneath the moistened sod,
While the murm'ring rain of evening fell.
