William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
WarW
And the white clouds are flying afar,
I rove
Through the grove,
While no danger is nigh,
And with pensiveness utter a heart-broken sigh,
As I think on the horrors of war.
Spread destruction and carnage afar,
While blood,
Like a flood,
Flows with crimson the ground,
And the groans of the dying unnumber’d around—
O! the horrors of merciless war!
And dread terror be banish’d afar;
When love,
Like a dove,
With the emblems of peace,
Shall return to the ark, and all wretchedness cease,
Which embitters the horrors of war.
And no ill-omen’d, grief-bearing star,
Shall keep
Gentle sleep
From the fatherless eye,
Nor disturb the repose of the brave with a sigh,
For the wide-wasting horrors of war.