Cherished one, do not grow weary,
God is ever up on high;
Have you not got still above you
The same calm and lovely sky?
It is painful now to leave you,
Yet there's pleasure with the pain,
In the thought, so sweet and cheering
That we both may meet again.
In life's storm and in life's sunshine
Oft I've fondly turned to thee,
And I can forget thee never,
Though fate far may beckon me.
Though I go to scenes of battle,
O! it is a golden thought,
I've left those who still can love me,
And I cannot be forgot.
Let me speak about my children --
Ere I leave the Granite State
For the scenes of war and danger,
Let me speak about the eight.
Ann has reached the age of woman
And a grandchild now have we.
Evard's mother is our daughter --
Happy may his mother be.
Yet we've seven other children;
Christie's a girl of nineteen,
And then Clinton, a year younger,
Next our James Leroy is seen.
Then a boy of eight bright summers
Does to play with comrades go;
Yet he'll tell you of his father
Who forgets not John Monroe.
Then we've little smiling Addie;
She's the youngest of the eight;
But she oft speaks of the father
Still within his native state.
Ah, but there are yet two others,
They've far from the fireside gone;
Yet we love them just as fondly --
David and his brother John.
They are living with their grandma,
They are from earth's sorrows free,
Yet when I my watch am keeping,
Will they not watch over me?
When my lonely post I'm walking
In some distant grove or glen,
O, will not the wand'ring angels
Watch their loving father then?
When I'm on the field of battle
And see comrades fall or die,
Then, to aid me and preserve me,
Will their images be nigh.
And when I'm writing homeward,
To the wife and mother dear,
Will the thoughts of those I'm missing
Give the sheet an extra tear?
Home! I never can forget thee!
Wife, my love for thee is great;
Children, thou my heart art wedding
To the good old Granite State
Yet I must leave thee, New Hampshire,
Bid farewell to mountains high,
Go to meet the foe and strangers
And to see the war clouds nigh.
And how often in my fancy,
In my dreams I'll travel far
From the comrades who're around me,
From the crowning scenes of war.
And in dreams I will embrace thee,
Oh my wife so fond and true,
And be angry with those who wake me
When my dreams were all of you.
Thus could I continue dreaming,
But I hope again we'll meet,
And thy presence will be real,
And the friends of yore we'll greet.
Far thee well, my loving Addie,
Ah, the word doth take my breath,
No -- my heart is clinging to thee,
As the ivy clings in death.