Here's my transcription.

LITTLE GOLDEN-HAIR.
(Will Carleton)

Little Golden-hair was watching, in the window broad and high,
For the coming of her father, who had gone the foe to fight;
He had left her in the morning, and had told her not to cry.
But to have a kiss all ready when he came to her at night.

She had wandered, all the day.
In her simple, childish way,
And had asked, as time went on
Where her father could have gone:

She had heard the muskets firing, she had counted every one,
Till the number grew so many that it was too great a load;
Then the evening fell upon her, clear of sound of shout or gun,
And she gazed with wistful longing down the dusty Concord road.

Little Golden-hair had listened, not a single week before,
While the heavy sand was falling on her mother's coffinlid;
And she loved her father better for the loss that then she bore.
And thought of him and yearned for him, whatever else she did.

So she wondered all the day
What could make her father stay,
And she cried a little, too,
As he told her not to do;

And the sun sunk slowly downward and went grandly out of sight,
And she had the kiss all ready on his lips to be bestowed;
But the shadows made one shadow, and the twilight grew to night,
And she looked, and looked, and listened, down the dusty Concord road.

Then the night grew light and lighter, and the moon rose full and round,
In the little sad face peering, looking piteously and wild;
Still upon the walks of gravel there was heard no welcome sound.
And no father came there, eager for the kisses of his child.

Long and sadly did she wait,
Listening at the cottage-gate;
Then she felt a quick alarm.
Lest he might have come to harm,

With no bonnet but her tresses, no companion but her fears,
And no guide except the moonbeams that the pathway dimly showed,
With a little sob of sorrow, quick she threw away her tears,
And alone she bravely started down the dusty Concord road.

And for many a mile she struggled, full of weariness and pain,
Calling loudly for her father, that her voice he might not miss;
Till at last, among a number of the wounded and the slain,
Was the white face of the soldier, waiting for his daughter's kiss.

Softly to his lips she crept.
Not to wake him as he slept;
Then, with her young heart at rest,
Laid her head upon his breast;

And upon the dead face smiling, with the living one near by,
All the night a golden streamlet of the moonbeams gently flowed;
One to live, a lonely orphan, one beneath the sod to lie, —
They found them in the morning on the dusty Concord road.

Source: The New Century Speaker: Writer and Etiquette, by T. Edward Hollinshed, B.I. American Book and Bible House, Philadelphia, 1901 - page 243