Straight and swift to my wounded I go
With dressings and sponge row by row
Old tired hands make steady
As I bandage this poor amputee

Flies swarm to foul stench of rot
That saturates these iron cots
Where my fallen brethren lays bare
Pale and beyond my care

On, on I go
Tending to heroic souls
Sleep sound brave son
Now that your duty is done

Son of the Union weep not
I’ll be the limb you have lost
And write a letter to your dear
With news of what you have endured

On, on I go
Tending to heroic souls
Sleep sound brave son
Now that your duty is done