Farewell, farewell, is a lonely sound

Farewell, farewell is a lonely sound,
And always brings a sigh;
But give to me that better word
That comes from the heart, good-by
Adieu, adieu, may do for the gay,
When pleasure's throng is nigh,
But give to me when lovers part,
That loving word, good-by.

1 On Buena Vista's bloody field
A soldier, dying, lay.
His thoughts were of his mansion home,
Some thousand miles away;
He called his comrades to his side,
For much he had to say―
A few brief words to friends he left,
Some thousand miles away.

2 My father, comrades, you will tell,
About this bloody fray,
My country's standard, say to him,
Was safe with me this day;
I've made a pillow of it now,
On which to lay my head,
A winding sheet you'll make of it, When I am with the dead.

3 I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul,
To think that never more
I'll sit with him beneath the oak,
That shades his cottage door.
But tell the time-worn patriot,
That, mindful of his fame,
Upon this bloody battle field,
I sullied not his name.

Source: The Social Harp #253