For the Dear Old Flag I Die S. Foster For the dear old flag I die, Said the wounded drummer boy; Mother, press your lips to mine; O, they bring me peace and joy!, Tis the last time on the earth I shall ever see your face, Mother take me to your heart, Let me die in your embrace. For the dear old flag I die, Mother, dry your weeping eye; For the honor of our land And the dear old flag I die. Do not mourn, my Mother, dear, Every pang will soon be o'er; For I hear the angel band Calling from their starry shore; Now I see their banners wave In the light of perfect day, Though 'tis hard to part with you, Yet I would not wish to stay.