Judge — September 29, 1888 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Copyright 1888, by Juoce Punuisiine Comrany J 1 high their cross'd to the Words by ALFRED R. CALHOUN Temyo di Marcia SONG. By Mayon Aurwnn R. C MY +OLD+CANTEEN.S& JUDGE'S CAMPAIG! ous, author of " Marching Through Georgia.” Music by F. R. BURTON. 4 8 Con Spirtio 32 oealE= Of the camp, of the march, the bat - Ue, ad lips ‘that kissed you While on And \ Let them show our tat - te ‘They an-swered the mys- Let Are comrades ev oth = still cr for = = = ts they fling ; er shore; The old mus-ket, You are rust - y, « But there’s noth « But the trump-et’s blast cau't + where be your ear + ly the old sa - br you are bat-tere: Jone is old can - teen, can - teen, © you, my Vike you, my Ie my old can-teen, Like you, my old can-teen; ‘There’snoth-ing brings the er my old canteen, Like you, my old can-teen; The trump-et’s blast can’t \3 \ i which mind, Like you, my me, Like you, my can ? teen, teen. (Last stanza without tude.) ) ogee i They intended you for water When they framed your rounded side, Yet you kindly took to coffee, For your sympathies were wide. Distilled peach and commissary You have held with sober mien ; And you've often furnished bourbon On the night march, old canteen, When my compades fell about me, You stuck’ closer to my side ; Vou brought comfort to the wounded, Who without you would have died. Even Generals have praised you, When they tasted you unseen, And have wiped their beards and whispered : = = = We have slept and marched together, We've been empty, we've been full; We have merry made with stolen sweets, be With buttermilk been dull ; i We've heard fierce oaths o'er sore defeat, The last foe in flight we've seen, Then, crippled sore, but stout of hear Came home, my old canteen, Cuorus, Crores, When comrades take me to the grave I'd have you brought there too ; Pass from lip to lip in silence, With my dead face in their view. ‘Then let them lay you on my breast, And place us ‘neath the green, And say, “He was a soldier true, He loved his old canteen.” Cuorvs. Cuorus. comicbooks.com