They are coming home, they're coming, Our soldier boys they are; They're being mustered out of service, They are coming from the war. Husband, father, son and brother, Sweetheart and friend so dear, All are coming and we'll give them A hearty, welcome cheer. Some are coming from the camp grounds In the sunny Southland fair, Some from Cuba, some from Porto, And the Philippines afar. With what true love and what courage They enlisted in the strife; And the freedom of the Cubans Counted dearer than their lives. And all through the bloody struggle They did not "forget the Maine," Till they freed the isle of Cuba From the tyrant-yoke of Spain. But now the war is over And they're coming home again, Each one proud he's been a soldier, And has helped to conquer Spain. Tho' some may look pale and sickly, And the number fewer be, Because the graves are thicker In Cuba, 'cross the sea, Yet we'll welcome them more warmly, Our boys so grand and true, As they come marching home again In their uniforms of blue. |