BEFORE THE SECOND BATTLE AT HUDSON, MO.,
DECEMBER 20тн, '61.
FAREWELL, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty,
The time it has come and I must depart;
But to know that you will think of me, darling,
'Mid peril and danger will cheer my sad heart
For your bright smile of kindness will ever be near me,
To soften my sorrow and relieve every pain;
And if fortune but spares me, my own darling Katty,
When the war is all over I'll come back again.
Farewell, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty,
The sun it is up, and I must away;
The boys now are marching and handkerchiefs waving, So, farewell, dear Katty, I'll no longer delay. You'll think of me sometimes, and pray for me, too,
When you hear an account of the wounded and slain; And if God only spares me, my own darling Katty, When the war is all over, I'll come back again.
Farewell, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty, One kiss now at parting, and then I'll be gone; The drums are a-beating, the music is playing,
While friends with kind words are cheering us on. We are fighting for honor and glory, my darling, The rebels for plunder, and booty, and gain; So, when we have whipp'd them back into submission, And restored the old Union, I'll come back again.
WHEN THE DIN OF WAR IS ENDED.
BATTLE OF DRANESVILLE, VA.,
ROLLING drums and thundering cannon,
Cheerful hearts with smiling faces,
Fire and sword, and fearful terrors,
Pleasant dreams of heavenly places-
Traitors, demons, perfect devils,
Loyal patriotic souls,
Broken hearts and ruined prospects,
Fortunes caught in gilded bowls-
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble,
Pleasure, calmness, and delight,
Lights and shadows how they double,
No alternative but fight.
Hear the dying groans of brothers;
And again the songs of mirth;
Hear the shrieks of mangled soldiers,
And the gladsome songs of earth-
Blooming fields and waving blossoms,
Gardens filled with blessings rare,
Man destroys what God bequeathed him,
And rejects the good and fair-
When the din of war is ended,
And the sound of battle's strife,
When our hope to live contented,
And be happy hence through life—
Hasten on, oh, God, that coming;
Let thy righteous ways of peace,
Spread their flowery paths before us,
And command that war shall cease.
WE WILL FIGHT AS OF OLD.
THE STONE BLOCKADE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR, S. C.,
DECEMBER 21ST, '61.
WHEN rebellion first swept, with its pestilent breath,
Through our dear native land, causing terror and death.
We vowed by the martyrs who fought and who fell,
That no foreign assistance its fury should quell.
Let the trumpet and drum sound all over the land,
Let us muster with rifle, with cannon and brand!
And teach those proud nations, far over the sea,
We'll fight as of old for the home of the free!
Oh, shades of our sires! Sacred spirits impart
Strength and courage to nerve each arm and heart!
With a Patriot's zeal, and fidelity true,
To conquer or die for "the red, white and blue."
The quarrel's our own-we'll adjust it at home;
No false foreign power interfering shall come;
Then never, we swear, while the sun sheds its light,
Shall foreign exaction set our quarrels aright.
Our blades have too often been fleshed to the hilt;
In the forms of our kindred, what blood we have spilt,
In this terrible strife! thus proclaiming to all,
When we fight for the right we conquer or fall.
Sound trumpet and drum all over the land:
Join together in love each true heart and hand—
North and South, East and West, O, God! we implore,
Our glorious Union again to restore.
FIGHT AT NEWPORT NEWS, VA.,
DECEMBER 22nd, '61.
WAVE all your plumes, O lordly Northern pines,
Again to conflict like the north wind's blast;
By all the power that Honor's self defines,
By all the mem'ries of th' historic past.
Onward to meet the foe-again press on!
Hurtling the iron rain, and flashing sword;
On! for your battle-fields by valor won,
Ring out the battle-cry with fierce accord.
On, for the heritage of unborn men,
On, for the ashes of your buried sires; Bid each bright star blaze in its field again, And warm the martial pulse with patriot fires!
Men of the North! your hands are on the plow! Will ye turn back or lie down in the furrow That ye have made? saying: "Not now, O, not now; But in the golden splendor of to-morrow,
"We'll do such deeds, that tyrants on their thrones Shall thrill with terror, and the grain shall grow
To winnowed be ere yet it is high noon,
Upon the earth's threshing floor! But O, not now.
"A little longer; we must bide our time,
He who runs fast, is sure to catch a fall.” Men of the North! Treason is in its prime,
And must be crushed to fragments. Know that all
The logic of great minds would fail to gain
One single convert. Traitors are not born,
But spring, full grown, from out some lusty brain,
Armed cap-a-pie, unshaven, and unshorn.
Men of the North, this is no game of chance,
A toss up-e'en or odd-and one must win.
As victors for the Right, we must advance,
Or fold our hands, the waiting chains within.
God to the Rescue! be the battle-cry,
From Maine's pine-forests to the Golden Gate,
While for the star of Promise in our sky,
A stricken people hopeful watch and wait.
THE WAR CHRISTIAN'S THANKSGIVING.
CAMP CELEBRATION OF CHRISTMAS DAY,
OH! God of Battles! once again,
With banner, trump and drum,
And garments in Thy wine press dyed,
To give Thee thanks we come.
No goats or bullocks garlanded,
Unto thy altars go;
With brother's blood, by brothers shed,
Our glad libations flow.
From pest-house and from dungeon foul,
Where maimed and torn they die;
From gory trench and charnel house,
Where heap on heap they lie.
|