free web hosting | website hosting | Business Hosting Services | Free Website Submission | shopping cart | php hosting

lee's songbook

a


A frog he would a-wooing go

A frog he would a-wooing go, um hmmm; 
A frog he would a-wooing go, um hmmm;
A frog he would a-wooing go
Whether his mother let him or no -
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

He rode right to Miss Mousie's den, um hmmm;  
He rode right to Miss Mousie's den, um hmmm;  
He rode right to Miss Mousie's den, 
Said he, "Miss Mousie, are you within?"
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

"Yes, kind Sir Frog, I sit to spin, um hmmm;
Yes, kind Sir Frog, I sit to spin, um hmmm;
Yes, kind Sir Frog, I sit to spin,
Pray, Mister Frog, won't you walk in?"  
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

He said, "My dear, I've come to see," um hmmm;
He said, "My dear, I've come to see," um hmmm;
He said, "My dear, I've come to see
If you, Miss Mousie, will marry me."
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

"I don't know what to say to that," um hmmm;
"I don't know what to say to that," um hmmm;
I don't know what to say to that
'Til I can see my Uncle Rat."
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

When Uncle Rat came riding home, um hmmm;
When Uncle Rat came riding home, um hmmm;
When Uncle Rat came riding home
Said he, "Who's been here since I've been gone?"
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

"A fine young gentleman has been here," um hmmm;
"A fine young gentleman has been here," um hmmm;
"A fine young gentleman has been here
Who wants to marry me, it is clear."
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

So Uncle Rat he rode to town, um hmmm;
So Uncle Rat he rode to town, um hmmm;
So Uncle Rat he rode to town
And bought his niece a wedding gown.
 Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

"Where shall our wedding supper be?" um hmmm;
"Where shall our wedding supper be?" um hmmm;
"Where shall our wedding supper be?"
"Down in the trunk of some hollow tree."
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

The first to come was a Bumble Bee, um hmmm;
The first to come was a Bumble Bee, um hmmm;
The first to come was a Bumble Bee -
He strung his fiddle over his knee. 
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

The next to come was a Crawley Bug, um hmmm;
The next to come was a Crawley Bug, um hmmm;
The next to come was a Crawley Bug -
He broke the bottle and smashed the jug. 
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

The next to come was the Captain Flea, um hmmm;
The next to come was the Captain Flea, um hmmm;
The next to come was the Captain Flea -
He danced a jig with the Bumble Bee. 
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.

The Frog and Mouse, they went to France, um hmmm;
The Frog and Mouse, they went to France, um hmmm;
The Frog and Mouse, they went to France
And this is the end of my romance -
Um hmmm, um hmm - um hmm - um hmm.


Abide With Me:
Fast falls the eventide
Words by Henry Francis Lyte
Music by William Henry Monk
1861

Abide with me - fast falls the eventide!
The darkness deepens - Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fall and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day,
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see -
O Thou who changest not, abide with me!

I need Thy presence ev'ry passing hour -
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r?
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?

Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!

I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless,
Ills have no weight and tears no bitterness;
Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still if Thou abide with me!

Hold Thou Thy Word before my closing eyes,
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav'n's morning breaks and earth's vain shadows flee -
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!

 


ABOLITIONISTS' HYMN

To the tune of OLD 100TH
1837

We ask not that the slave should lie as lies his master at his ease,
Beneath a silken canopy or in the shade of blooming trees.

We ask not "eye for eye" that all who forge the chain and ply the whip
Should feel their torture; while the thrall should wield the scourge of mastership.

We mourn not that the man should toil; 'tis nature's need, 'tis God's decree;
But let the hand that tills the soil be, like the wind that fans it, free.

 


ABRAHAM LINCOLN
To the tune of OLD DAN TUCKER

Abram Lincoln! he was born
In old Kentuck' one cloudy morn;
And ever since that hour unlucky,
There's been a "cave" in old Kentucky!

Chorus
Yaw! Yaw Ye bold Bull Runners,
Wait a wee for the WA gunners!
Yaw! Yaw Ye bold Bull Runners,
Wait a wee for the WA gunners!

Abram Lincoln got elected -
Bigger fool than we expected!
Tried to run the old machine -
Smashed it to a smithereen.

Abram Lincoln made a pledge
To save the Union with a wedge!
Drove it in! but the more he hit,
The worse the glorious Union split!

Abram Lincoln! Who but he!
Thought to crush our liberty;
Sent McDowell to harass us
Over the left around Manassas!

Scott, he came to Bull Creek Ford,
Rolled up his sleeves and pulled out his sword;
Winfield Scott! With his cheeks a-puffin',
Next thing he knew, he didn't know nuffin'.

Abram Lincoln vowed and swore
To "plant his foot" on Southern soil;
And if he did, the white folks say,
He planted it with the heel this way!

Lincoln lives in Washington
In the breech of a Long Tom gun;
Bye and bye, as I'm thinkin',
They'll touch it off! And "Goodbye, Lincoln!"

Abram Lincoln, he must feel
Mighty mean with his Bastille;
Such a load upon his stomach -
Better not cross the old Potomac.

There's a pile of pickaninny
Lying around in old Virginny,
Waitin' 'til he comes along
To greet him with a cannon song.

Harnesses strong and horses steady,
Brasses bright and bullets ready;
Powder dry, and hope before us;
Wake, my boys, the cannon's chorus!

 




ABRAHAM'S DAUGHTER
OR,
RAW RECRUITS
Words By Tony Emmett
Music By Septimus Winner

1861

Oh! Kind folks listen to my song, it is no idle story;
It's all about a volunteer who's goin' to fight for glory!
Now don't you think that I am right? For I am nothing shorter,
And I belong to the Fire Zou-Zous, and don't you think I oughter?
I'm goin' down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

Oh! Should you ask me who she am, Columbia is her name, sir;
She is the child of Abraham, or Uncle Sam, the same, sir.
Now if I fight, why ain't I right? And don't you think I oughter?
The volunteers are a-pouring in from every loyal quarter,
And I'm goin
'
down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

They say we have no officers, but, ah! They are mistaken;
And soon you'll see the Rebels run, with all the fuss they're makin';
For there is one who just sprung up, he'll show the foe no quarter -
(McClellan is the man I mean) - You know he hadn't oughter,
For he's gone down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

We'll have a spree with Johnny Bull, perhaps some day or other,
And won't he have his fingers full, if not a deal of bother;
For Yankee boys are just the lads upon the land or water;
And won't we have a "bully" fight, and don't you think we oughter?
If he is caught at any time insulting Abraham's daughter.

But let us lay all jokes aside, it is a sorry question;
The man who would these states divide should hang for his suggestion.
One country and one flag, I say, who e'er the war may slaughter;
So I'm goin' as a fire Zou-Zou, and don't you think I oughter,
I'm going down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

Oh! The soldiers here both far and near, they did get quite excited
When from their brethren of the south to war they were invited.
But it was to be, it is to be, it can't be nothing shorter,
Oh! And if they call upon this child, I'ze bound to die a martyr.
For I belong to the fire Zou-Zous, and don't you think I oughter?
I'm goin' down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

I am tired of a city life, and I will join the Zou-Zous;
I'm going to try and make a hit down among the southern foo-foos;
But if perchance I should get hit, I'll show them I'm a tartar;
We are bound to save our Union yet: 'tis all that we are arter.

There is one thing more that I would state before I close my ditty:
'Tis all about the volunteers that's left our good old city.
They have gone to fight for the Stars and Stripes - Our Union now or never!
We will give three cheers for the volunteers and Washington forever.

Oh! Johnny Bull is gone to grass to fatten up his calves, oh!
He's talking of sending shilling-a-day soldiers to the South, oh!
But we licked them well in 1812, and we can whip them weller: oh, oh, oh!
Whilst we're here, if they interfere, won't we give them a warmer!
Oh! I'm a-going down to Washington to fight for Abraham's daughter.

How are you and all my friends? I've just come from the wars, sirs!
For I've been at Bull Run, you know, and fought for the Stars and Stripes, sirs,
It's true enough we were repulsed, but the Rebels' loss was great, sirs;
And if you don't believe it's true, why, read the Richmond papers!


acres of clams
OR,
oLD SETTLERS' SONG

Unknown

To the tune of ROSIN THE BEAU
1850

I've wandered all over this country, prospecting and digging for gold;
I've tunneled, hydraulicked and cradled, and I nearly froze in the cold.
And I nearly froze in the cold, and I nearly froze in the cold;
I've tunneled, hydraulicked and cradled, and I have been frequently sold.

For each man who got rich by mining, perceiving that hundreds grew poor,
I made up my mind to try farming - the only pursuit that was sure.
The only pursuit that was sure, the only pursuit that was sure;
I made up my mind to try farming - the only pursuit that was sure.

I rolled up my grub in my blanket, I left all my tools on the ground;
I started one morning to shank it for the country they call Puget Sound.
For the country they call Puget Sound, for the country they call Puget Sound;
I started one morning to shank it for the country they call Puget Sound.

Arriving flat broke in midwinter, I found it enveloped in fog,
And covered all over with timber thick as hair on the back of a dog.
Thick as hair on the back of a dog, thick as hair on the back of a dog;
And covered all over with timber thick as hair on the back of a dog.

When I looked on the prospects so gloomy, the tears trickled over my face;
And I thought that my travels had brought me to the end of the jumping-off place.
To the end of the jumping-off place, to the end of the jumping-off place;
And I thought that my travels had brought me to the end of the jumping-off place.

I staked me a claim in the forest, and sat myself down to hard toil;
For two years I chopped and I struggled, but I never got down to the soil.
I never got down to the soil, I never got down to the soil;
For two years I chopped and I struggled, but I never got down to the soil.

I tried to get out of the country but poverty forced me to stay
Until I became an old settler; then nothing could drive me away.
Then nothing could drive me away, then nothing could drive me away;
Until I became an old settler; then nothing could drive me away.

And now that I'm used to the climate, I think that if a man ever found
A place to live easy and happy, that Eden is on Puget Sound.
That Eden is on Puget Sound, that Eden is on Puget Sound;
A place to live easy and happy, that Eden is on Puget Sound.

No longer a slave of ambition, I laugh at the world and its shams,
And I think of my happy condition, surrounded by acres of clams.
Surrounded by acres of clams, surrounded by acres of clams;
And I think of my happy condition surrounded by acres of clams.

During the great Gold Rush of 1849 many folks went to California in search of gold. Some folks traveled away from the madding crowd, however, and went northwest to Washington and Oregon. There was no gold there; but, they said, if only they would find the "acres of clams" in the shore, then they would be rich.


Ah, lo zo-zo chan' dan' branche:
a creole song

By Maurice Thompson

What bird is that, with voice so sweet,
Sings to the sun from yonder tree?
What girl is that so slim and fleet,
Comes through the cane her love to meet?
Foli zo-zo, sing merrily.
The pretty girl she comes to me!

What wind is that upon the cane?
What perfume from a far-off rose
Fills me with dreams? What strange, vague pain
Stirs in my heart? What longing vain
Is this that through my bosom goes?
O south wind, perfume and desire,
You kiss, you soothe, you burn like fire!

Ah, no! Ah, no! It is a cheat.
There is no bird; my love comes not; 
The wind chills me from head to feet,
And oh, it brings no perfume sweet.
My slender girl the white man bought,
And took her far across the bay -
I cannot cut the cane today!

I cannot cut the cane today-
O zo-zo, moquer, come and sing!
O warm wind, through the cane field stray,
Wave the long moss so soft and gray!
I have no heart for anything; 
But life was heaven and work was play
When my love loved me every day!

White man, how I worked for you
When I was young and blithe and strong!
The earth was green, the sky was blue,
My love's eyes were as bright as dew;
And life was like the zo-zo's song!
But you-you sold my love away-
I cannot cut the cane today!

I did not dream a slave could be
A man, and right a grievous wrong.
I writhed and bore your cruelty;
I felt the soul go out of me;
And yet, I was so lion-strong
I could have torn your heart away - 
I cannot cut the cane today!

Freedom! I feel it when too late,
Like spring wind on a blasted tree,
A waft of mockery and hate!
Bring back my chains, O cruel Fate!
Bring youth and slavery back to me;
Bring back the lash, the hound, the pain,
So that my own love come again!

But hark! A gentle voice afar
Calls me to go, I know not where -
Yes, past the sun and past the star,
Into God's land. A golden car
And milk-white horses - she is there!
So sweet - I dream - I float away -
I cannot cut the cane today!

 


Alabama Again
To the tune of BELIEVE ME IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS
1852

I left Alabama a long way behind me, 
And my ole Massa and woolly head, Ben;
They are almost crazy, because they can't find me,
And I must go back to Alabama again.
Ben, was my true love, and the gals all kissed him,
Ao I got jealous, and left him soon then;
But soon after that, my affections did miss him,
And I must go back to Alabama again.

Oh, kind folks, all, give ear to my ditty,
If ever you're placed as I've been and am,
Never leave your ole Massa, and sweet little Kitty,
For she am the gal that says she loves Sam.
Oh, dear Alabama, oh, sweet Alabama,
I'm sorry that ever I left your bright plains;
And if ever I live 'till the sun shines tomorrow,
I'm going to go back to Alabama again.

FINALE
Alabama again, Alabama again,
And if ever I live,
'Til the sun shines tomorrow,
I'm going to go back to Alabama again.

Andrews', Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y., Dealer in Songs, Games, Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c., Wholesale and Retail.

PUBLISHED BY J. H. JOHNSON

 


ALABAMA JOE
Words & Music By R. W. Smith
1840

A nigger in Alabama lived, dey used to call him Joe;
Dis nigger lived to be so old, his head war white as snow.
Dis nigger, he war very rich, the poor ones liked him well;
Dey used to go to de Alabama house some stories for to tell.

Chorus
An' strike de toe an' heel, my lass, an' strike de heel an' toe,
Miss Phillis am a-waiting for your Alabama Joe.

This old nigger built a church, a minister he hired
Who staid with them about four years, and quit 'cause he war tired.
Their minister good salary got, as all these niggers know;
De money, it war paid to him by Alabama Joe.

Dis made dese niggers all feel bad, to think he sarved him so,
But the one the shock fell worst upon was Alabama Joe.
In a few years after dis de good old nigger died,
He left three niggers all he had, and Miss Phillissy his bride.

His money he did will away to Phillissy his spouse,
Which caused great disturbance at dis old nigger's house.
Miss Phillissy had him buried all under an old tree,
And after dey had buried him, de niggers had a spree.

A nigger in Virginia lived who heard of old Joe's death
Den straight for Alabama steered, and never stopped for breath;
He quick made love to Phillissy who was a-charmin' fair;
Her eyes were bright as diamonds, and curly war her hair.

Dis nigger war a fisherman, a fisherman ob old,
A-fishin' he did go one night, and caught a beautiful cold.
Dis nigger lived in great harmony, and age did make him pine,
For she was only twenty-three, and he war ninety-nine.

Dis story that I now relate, as a good old nigger said,
He went one morning to their house, and found dis couple dead.
Now Miss Phillissy she is dead, old Joe he went before,
Dar oder niggers hab gone, too - we shall see them no more.

Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St., N. Y., Songs, Games, Toys, Books Motto Verses, &c.,
Wholesale and Retail.


ALAS! AND DID MY SAVIOR BLEED?
Words By Isaac Watts - 1707
Music By Hugh Wilson - 1800

Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?

Thy body slain, sweet Jesus, Thine,
And bathed in its own blood;
While all exposed to wrath divine,
The glorious Sufferer stood.

Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker died,
For man the creature's sin.

Thus might I hide my blushing face
While His dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears.

But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give my self away
'Tis all that I can do.


All For Me GroG

Well, it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
It's all for me beer and tobacco;
For I spent all me tin down on South Street drinking gin,
Now across the western ocean I must wander.

Where is me hat, me noggy', noggin' hat?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco;
For the brim is wore out, and the crown is kicked about,
And my head is looking out for better weather.

Where are me boots, me noggy', noggin' boots?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco.
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather.


Where is me shirt, me noggy', noggin' shirt?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco;
For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn,
And the tail is looking out for better weather.

Where is me pants, me noggy', noggin' pants?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco;
For the seat is all out, and the cuffs they are knocked about,
And my ass is looking out for better weather.

I see centipedes and snakes and I'm filled with pains and aches,
And the sky is looking darker than the thunder;
And the tavern keeper, too, for I haven't got a sou,
And I guess I'm pushing off for better weather.

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since first I came ashore with all me plunder;
For I spent all me dough down on South Street drinkin' gin,
So across the western ocean I must wander.



George Whitefield's Collapsible Pulpit
Used During The First Great Awakening

ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME
Words By Edward Perronet - 1780
Words By John Rippon - 1787 (Last Stanza)
Music By James Ellor - 1838

ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME
Words By Edward Perronet
Music By James Ellor - 1838
Or,
William Shrubsole - 1779

All hail the power of Jesus' Name! Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all.
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all.

Let highborn seraphs tune the lyre, and as they tune it, fall
Before His face Who tunes their choir, and crown Him Lord of all.
Before His face Who tunes their choir, and crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye morning stars of light, Who launched this floating ball;
Now hail the strength of Israel's might, and crown Him Lord of all.
Now hail the strength of Israel's might, and crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye martyrs of your God, who from His altar call;
Extol the Stem of Jesse's Rod, and crown Him Lord of all.
Extol the Stem of Jesse's Rod, and crown Him Lord of all.

Ye seed of Israel's chosen race, ye ransomed from the fall,
Hail Him who saves you by His grace, and crown Him Lord of all.
Hail Him who saves you by His grace, and crown Him Lord of all.

Hail Him, ye heirs of David's line, Whom David Lord did call,
The God incarnate, Man divine, and crown Him Lord of all,
The God incarnate, Man divine, and crown Him Lord of all.

Sinners, whose love can ne'er forget the wormwood and the gall,
Go spread your trophies at His feet, and crown Him Lord of all.
Go spread your trophies at His feet, and crown Him Lord of all.

Let every kindred, every tribe on this terrestrial ball
To Him all majesty ascribe, and crown Him Lord of all.
To Him all majesty ascribe, and crown Him Lord of all.

O that with yonder sacred throng we at His feet may fall!
We'll join the everlasting song, and crown Him Lord of all.
We'll join the everlasting song, and crown Him Lord of all.

The first stanza appeared anonymously in The Gospel Magazine, November 1779.  In April 1780, the same magazine published eight verses titled "On the Resurrection, the Lord Is King".  It resurfaced half a dozen years later, again anonymously, accompanied by an acrostic poem whose letters spelled out "Edward Perronet."

The last verse was added by John Rippon in 1787.

 


all people that on earth do dwell

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Him serve with mirth, His praise forth tell;
Come ye before Him and rejoice.

Know that the Lord is God indeed;
Without our aid He did us make;
We are His folk, He doth us feed,
And for His sheep He doth us take.

O enter then His gates with praise;
Approach with joy His courts unto;
Praise, laud, and bless His Name always,
For it is seemly so to do.

For why! the Lord our God is good;
His mercy is forever sure;
His truth at all times firmly stood,
And shall from age to age endure.

To Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
The God Whom heaven and earth adore,
From men and from the angel host
Be praise and glory evermore.


A PROMISE TO RETURN
AMY V. LINDENBERGER

ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TONIGHT
Words By Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
In Her Poem THE PICKET GUARD
Music By John Hill Hewitt
1861

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing - a private or two now and then;
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost! Only one of the men
Moaning out all alone the death rattle.

Chorus
All quiet along the Potomac tonight.

All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
O'er the light of the watch fires, are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack, his face dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep -
For their mother - may heaven defend her.

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night when the love yet unspoken,
Leaped up to his lips, when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing;
It looks like a rifle - "Ha! Mary goodbye!"
And the life blood is ebbing and splashing.

All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
No sound save the rush of the river,
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead -
The picket's off duty forever.


ALL GLORY, LAUD AND HONOR
Words By Theodulph of Orleans - circa 1820
Translated from Latin to English by John Mason Neale - 1851
Music By Melchior Teschner - 1615

Refrain
All glory, laud and honor,
To Thee, Redeemer, King,
To Whom the lips of children
Made sweet hosannas ring.

Thou art the King of Israel,
Thou David's royal Son,
Who in the Lord's Name comest,
The King and Bless'd One.

The company of angels
Are praising Thee on High,
And we with all creation
In chorus make reply.

The people of the Hebrews
With psalms before Thee went;
Our prayer and praise and anthems
Before Thee we present.

To Thee, before Thy passion,
They sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted,
Our melody we raise.

Thou didst accept their praises;
Accept the prayers we bring,
Who in all good delightest,
Thou good and gracious King.

 

 


All People That On Earth Do Dwell
To the tune of OLD 100th

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Him serve with mirth, His praise forth tell;
Come ye before Him and rejoice.

Know that the Lord is God indeed;
Without our aid He did us make;
We are His folk, He doth us feed,
And for His sheep He doth us take.

O enter then His gates with praise;
Approach with joy His courts unto;
Praise, laud, and bless His Name always,
For it is seemly so to do.

For why! the Lord our God is good;
His mercy is forever sure;
His truth at all times firmly stood,
And shall from age to age endure.

To Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
The God Whom heaven and earth adore,
From men and from the angel host
Be praise and glory evermore.

All we, like sheep, have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way, and the Lord hath layd on Him the iniquity of us all.


All spice
Or
Spice for all

Baltimore, March 7, 1862

The people endure all,
The Hydropaths cure all, 
The Republicans sway all, 
The Contractors flay all, 
New York it must pay all, 
The Despot affirms all, 
The Senate confirms all, 
Wise Dahlgren instructs all, 
McClellan conducts all, 
Some Traitor reveals all, 
While Seward conceals all, 
Baltimoreans doubt all, 
And then wisely scout all, 
The Union Men flout all, 
But Johnston will rout all.


'Ward Beecher defiles all, 
'Winter Davis reviles all, 
George Dodge deceives all, 
While McPhail conceives all, 
The American receives all, 
Nathaniel Banks tries all, 
But Jeff Davis outvies all, 
Tommy Hicks he recants all, 
Beauregard enchants all, 
While Louis Nap crams all, 
Old Johnny Bull damns all, 
B. F. Butler will fly all, 
Then like Hicks deny all, 
Government misguides all, 
But the author derides all!


The Preachers will bless all, 
The sneaks will confess all, 
Victories will please all, 
Defeats will tease all, 
The taxes will squeeze all, 
General Wool will abuse all, 
General Dix will refuse all, 
General Jackson defies all, 
The Telegraph outlies all, 
Though Chase he will gas all, 
The "Green backs" won't pass all, 
Abe Lincoln may crave all, 
Jeff Davis may brave all! 
The Devil will have all, 
For nothing can save all!

Baltimore
March 7, 1862


All The Pretty Little Horses
A Lullaby

Hush-a-bye, don' you cry,
Go to sleep, little baby.
When you awake,
You shall have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.

Blacks and Bays, Dapples and Grays,
Coach, and six little horses.
So husha-bye,
Don' you cry;
Go to sleep, little baby.

Way down yonda', down in the medder,
There's a poor little lambie.
Bees an' butterflies
Peckin' out his eyes
Poor lambie cried fo' his mammy.


All Things Bright And Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
God made their glowing colors,
And made their tiny wings.

The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky.

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
He made them high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden:
God made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day.

God gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.


Amazing Grace! How Sweet The Sound
Or,
faith's review and expectation
Words By John Newton

Amazing grace! how sweet the sound That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear, The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come:
'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far And grace will lead me home.

And when this flesh and heart shall fail, And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil, A life of joy and peace.

The world shall soon dissolve like snow, The sun refuse to shine;
But God, who called me here below, Shall be forever mine.

 


Am I A Soldier Of The Cross?
Arlington

Am I a soldier of the cross, a follower of the Lamb;
And shall I fear to own His cause, or blush to speak His Name?

Must I be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody seas?

Are there no foes for me to face? Must I not stem the flood?
Is this vile world a friend to grace, to help me on to God?

Sure I must fight if I would reign; increase my courage, Lord.
Iíll bear the toil, endure the pain, supported by Thy Word.

Thy saints in all this glorious war shall conquer, though they die;
They see the triumph from afar, by faith's discerning eye

When that illustrious day shall rise, and all Thy armies shine
In robes of victory through skies, the glory shall be Thine.

 


AMERICA, MY COUNTRy 'tis of thee
Words By Samuel Francis Smith
Music By Lowell Mason
1832

My country! 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side let freedom ring.

Chorus
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side let freedom ring.

My native country! thee, land of the noble free, thy name I love;
I love the rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills:
My heart with rapture thrills like that above.

Chorus
I love the rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills:
My heart with rapture thrills like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, and sing from all the trees sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake; let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence brake, the sound prolong.

Chorus
Let mortal tongues awake; let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence brake, the sound prolong.

Our fathers' God! to thee, Author of Liberty! to Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright with freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King!

Chorus
Long may our land be bright with freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King!


ANALIZATION

OR,
WHAT ARE MORTALS MADE OF
Words & Music By E.R. Hansen
1831

Recitative:
What are mortals made of? 
What are mortals made of?
By analization, I've tried all the nation -
Defined each gradation -
In every station -
With Sir Humphry's best new chemical test
And found what mortals are made of.

What are lawyers made of?
What are lawyers made of?
Of causes and fees, demurrers and pleas,
Learned brother and lots of pother;
Counsel and jury with very wise looks,
Flaw in the indictment and statute books:
Such are our lawyers made of,
Such are our lawyers made of.

What are our old maids made of?
What are our old maids made of?
Of thrown away sighs, and crows
' feet eyes;
Of sprigs of rue and vinegar, too,
Parchment skin and faltering walk,
Chit chat and slander to talk;
And such are our old maids made of,
And such are our old maids made of.

What are old bacheldores made of?
What are old bacheldores made of?
Of bread and cheese and very weak knees,
Of sniveling nose and rheumatic toes.
Domestic comfort they say is all strife,
But yet in their hearts they all long for a wife;
And such are old bacheldores made of,
And such are old bacheldores made of.

What are our young ladies made of?
What are our young ladies made of?
Of flounces and frills, their beaux for to kill;
Of heaving a sigh till they make the men die,
A nice little frill, and a nice little fan,
And all for to get them a nice little man;
And such are our young ladies made of.
And such are our young ladies made of.

What are our Dandies made of?
What are our Dandies made of?
Of wristbands and collars, but very few dollars;
A glass to the eye when a lady is by;
False collar, calves and hair,
Stays laced and head like a bear!
And such are our Dandies made of.
And such are our Dandies made of.

What are New Yorkers made of?
What are New Yorkers made of?
Of State House in Park, Broadway in the dark;
Of ladies who flash and cut such a dash;
The home of the stranger, delight of the brave,
Lots of frolic and fashion and brokers that shave.
And such are New Yorkers made of,
And such are New Yorkers made of.

What are Philadelphians made of?
What are Philadelphians made of?
Of dandies and Quakers and Germans and Shakers;
Of fine Schuylkill coal and shad by the shoal.
At the mint they make money, Oh lawks, what a pile!
And the market it reaches for nearly a mile;
And such are Philadelphians made of,
And such are Philadelphians made of.

ANALIZATION was a stage number in the 1830s. The "Sir Humphry" to which the song refers was Sir Humphry Davies, inventor of the miner's safety lamp.


AND CAN IT BE THAT I SHOULD GAIN?

Words By Charles Wesley
Music By Thomas Campbell
1738

And can it be that I should gain an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died He for me who caused His pain! For me who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies! Who can explore His strange design?
In vain the firstborn seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more.

He left His Father's throne above (so free, so infinite His grace!),
Emptied Himself of all but love, and bled for Adam's helpless race.
'Tis mercy all, immense and free, for O my God, it found out me!
'Tis mercy all, immense and free, for O my God, it found out me!

Long my imprisoned spirit lay fast bound in sin and nature's night;
Thine eye diffused a quickening ray; I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.
My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

No condemnation now I dread; Jesus, and all in Him, is mine;
Alive in Him, my living Head, and clothed in righteousness divine,
Bold I approach th'
eternal throne, and claim the crown, through Christ my own.
Bold I approach th' eternal throne, and claim the crown, through Christ my own.


Angel Band
See THE LAND OF BEULAH


ANGELINA BAKER
Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1850

Angelina Baker lives
On the village green;
The way that I love her
Beats all to be seen.

Chorus
Angelina Baker, Angelina Baker;
Angelina Baker, Angelina Baker.

Angelina Baker,
Her age is forty-three;
I gave her candy by the peck,
But she won't marry me.

She won't do the bakin'
Because she is too stout;
She makes cookies by the peck
And throws the coffee out.

The last time I saw her,
It was at the county fair;
Her daddy chased me halfway home,
And told me to stay there.

Angelina taught me to weep,
And she taught me to moan;
Angelina taught me to weep
And play on the old jawbone.

 


ANGELINA BAKER

Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1850

Way down on de old plantation - dah's where I was born -
I used to beat de whole creation hoein' in de corn;
Oh! den I work and den I sing so happy all de day,
'Til Angelina Baker came and stole my heart away.

Chorus
Angelina Baker! Angelina Baker's gone--
She left me here to weep a tear, and beat on the old jaw-bone.

I've seen my Angelina in de springtime and de fall;
I've seen her in de corn-field, and I've seen her at de ball;
And eb'ry time I met her she was smiling like de sun,
But now I'm left to weep a tear 'cause Angelina's gone.

Angelina am so tall, she nebber sees de ground,
She hab to take a wellumscope to look down on de town;
Angelina like de boys as far as she can see dem,
She used to run old Massa round to ax him for to free dem.

Early in de morning ob a lubly summer day,
I ax for Angelina, and dey say, "She's gone away"--
I don't know wha to find her 'cause I don't know wha's she gone;
She left me here to weep a tear and beat on de old jaw-bone.


Annie Laurie

W. Douglas
1838

Maxwelton's braes are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true.
Gave me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and dee.

Her brow is like the snowdrift,
Her throat is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest
That e'er the sun shone on.
That e'er the sun shone on,
And dark blue is her e'e,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and dee.

Like dew on the gloamin' lying,
Is the fa'o her fairy feet,
And like winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet;
Her voice is low and sweet.
And she is the world to me.
And for bonnie Annie Laurie,
I'd lay me doon and dee.

Abraham Lincoln's friends would recall ANNIE LAURIE as one of a few ballads that would "mist his eyes with tears and throw him into a fit of deep melancholy" - the deep melancholy apparently a serious mental condition from which Lincoln seems to have suffered all his adult life.   Published in 1838 as a song, ANNIE LAURIE originally was written in 1685 by William Douglas of Finland, who loved the real Annie Laurie, beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet of Maxellton. ANNIE LAURIE found great popularity among British soldiers during the Crimean War.


Annie of the Vale
Words by G. P. Morris
Music By J. R. Thomas

The young stars are glowing,
Their clear light bestowing!
Their radiance fills the calm, clear Summer night!
Come forth, like a fairy,
So blithesome and airy,
And ramble in their soft and mystic light!

Chorus
Come, come, come, Love, come!
Come, ere the night-torches pale!
Oh! come in thy beauty,
Thou marvel of duty,
Dear Annie, dear Annie of the Vale!

The world we inherit,
Is charmed by thy spirit,
As radiant as the mild, warm Summer ray!
The watch-dog is snarling,
For fear, Annie darling,
His beautiful young friend I'd steal away!


APPROACH, MY SOUL, THE MERCY SEAT
Words By John Newton, Olney Hymns - 1779
Music By Francois Hippolyte Barthelemon 
Adapted by Robert Simpson
1833

Approach, my soul, the mercy seat,
Where Jesus answers prayer;
There humbly fall before His feet,
For none can perish there.

Thy promise is my only plea,
With this I venture nigh;
Thou callest burdened souls to Thee,
And such, O Lord, am I.

Bowed down beneath a load of sin,
By Satan sorely pressed,
By war without and fears within,
I come to Thee for rest.

Be Thou my Shield and hiding Place,
That, sheltered by Thy side,
I may my fierce accuser face,
And tell him Thou hast died!

O wondrous love! to bleed and die,
To bear the cross and shame,
That guilty sinners, such as I,
Might plead Thy gracious Name.

Poor tempest tossed soul, be still;
My promised grace receive ;
'Tis Jesus speaks - I must, I will,
I can, I do believe.

Araby's Daughter
Music By George Kiallmark,
Lyrics by Thomas Moore

From "Lalla Rookh"

Farewell farewell to thee, Araby's daughter;
Thus warbled a PERI beneath the dark sea.
No pear over lay under OMAN's green water,
More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee.

Chorus
Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber,
That ever the sorrowing seabird has wept;
With many a shell, in whose hollow wreath'd chamber,
We PERI'S of ocean, by moonlight have slept.

Nor shall IRAN, belov'd of her Hero! forget thee,
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start;
Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee,
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Chorus
Farewell, farewell, farewell.


Are We Free?

Are we free? go ask the question 
In the cells of Lafayette; 
Ask it of your chain-girt brothers. 
Shut within its parapet: 
Ask it of the silent journals 
Crushed beneath an iron hand: 
Ask it of the mighty armies 
Quartered on our groaning land, 
To them let the question be, 
Friends and Brothers are we free?


Ask it of the helpless women, 
Shut within a prison grate; 
Ask it of the weeping loved ones, 
Mourning o'er their wretched fate 
Ask it of the homes deserted, 
And the hearths made desolate. 
Ask it of the freemen punished, 
Who rebuke fanatic hate! 
Speak kindly, lest a taunt they see, 
In the question - "Are we free?"


Ask it of a helpless people, 
Cringing to a tyrant's throne; 
Ask it of each State enthralled, 
And her sons indignant grown. 
Ask it of the wreck of freedom, 
Torn and strewn on every hand: 
Ask it of your State dishonored, 
Prostrate, helpless Maryland! 
Without a taunt of mockery, 
Ask her if We still are free?

I hear the answer from the tower, 
In the clank of the rusty chains; 
And the press by silence tells us 
Still the unchecked despot reigns. 
See it in the homes deserted, 
And the hearths made desolate; 
Hear it from the exiled Freeman, 
Fleeing from his native State! 
Hear the blushing answer be, 
Maryland is no longer free!


Hear it in the wail of females, 
From the mouldy dungeon's gloom, 
Hear it in the sobs of children, 
Weeping for their mother's doom. 
Hear it in the shrieks of maidens, 
Torn from friends and brothers' care. 
Hear it in their screams of terror, 
See it in their wild despair! 
Answered in their piercing cries, 
Seen in tearful pleading eyes!


Hear it in the taunts of cowards, 
Who accept dishonor's stains; 
Hear it in the daily clanking 
Of our State's ignoble chains. 
And from Freedom's weeping goddess 
Fleeing from her children's graves, 
Comes a mother's sobbing answer, 
Power binds my children - Slaves! 
Whilst groans proclaim from hill to sea. 
Maryland was - But is not free!

Maryland, 1861 ......... J


ARISE, O GOD, AND SHINE
Words By William Hurn - 1813
Music By John David Edwards, 
Composed and Arranged by the Reverend John Edwards 

Arise, O God, and shine
In all Thy saving might,
And prosper each design
To spread Thy glorious light;
Let healing streams of mercy flow
That all the earth Thy truth may know.

Bring distant nations near
To sing Thy glorious praise;
Let every people hear
And learn Thy holy ways.
Reign, mighty God, assert Thy cause
And govern by Thy righteous laws.

Put forth Thy glorious power
That Gentiles all may see
And earth present her store
In converts born to Thee.
God, our own God, His Church will bless
And fill the world with righteousness.

To God, the only Wise,
The one immortal King,
Let hallelujahs rise
From every living thing;
Let all that breathe, on every coast
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Words: William Hurn, Psalms & Hymns, 1813. Music: "Rhosymedre",  John David Edwards, in Original Sacred Music Composed and Arranged by the Rev. John Edwards, B. A., Jesus College, Oxford, 1840. Alternate tune: "Darwall's 148th",  John Darwall, 1770.



ARKANSAS TRAVELER
Words & Music By Colonel Sandford C. Faulkner
OR
Words & Music By Mose Case
1847

.... The traveller reached the house. It was raining very hard, and he was anxious to obtain shelter from the storm; the house looked anything but a shelter, as it was covered with clapboards and the rain was leaking into part of it. The old man's daughter Sarah appeared to be getting supper, while a small boy was setting the table, and the old lady sat in the door near her husband, admiring the music.

The stranger on coming up, said: How do you do?
The man merely glanced at him and continuing to play; said: I do pretty much as I please.

Stranger: How long have you been living here?
Old Man: D'
ye see that mountain there? Well, that was there when I come here.

Stranger: Can I stay here tonight?
Old Man: No! ye can't stay here.

Stranger: How long will it take me to get to the next Tavern?
Old Man: Well, you'
ll not get thar at all if you stand thar foolin' with me all night.

(The music starts)

Stranger: Well, how far do you call it to the next Tavern?
Old Man: I reckon it's upwards of some distance.

Stranger: I am very dry, do you keep any spirits in your house?
Old Man: Do you think my house is haunted? They say there
's plenty down in the Grave-yard.

Stranger: How do they cross this river ahead?
Old Man: The ducks all swim across.

Stranger: How far is it to the fork of the road?
Old Man: I'
ve been living here nigh on twenty years and no road ain't forked yit.

Stranger: Give me some satisfaction if you please sir; where does this road go to?
Old Man: Well, it hain'
t moved a step since I've been here.

Oh, once upon a time in Arkansas, an old man sat in his little cabin door,
And fiddled at a tune that he liked to hear - a jolly old tune that he play'd by ear.
It was raining hard but the fiddler didn't care; he saw'd away at the popular air,
Though his roof tree leaked like a water fall, that didn'
t seem to bother the man at all.

A traveler was riding by that day and stopped to hear him a-practicing away;
The cabin was afloat and his feet were wet, but still the old man didn't seem to fret.
So the stranger said, "Now the way it seems to me, you'd better mend your roof," said he.
But the old man said, as he played away, "I couldn't mend it now, it's a rainy day."


The traveler replied, "That's all quite true, but this, I think, is the thing for you to do;
Get busy on a day that is fair and bright, then pitch the old roof till it's good and tight."
But the old man kept on a-playing at his reel, and tapped the ground with his leathery heel:
"Get along," said he, "for you give me a pain; my cabin never leaks when it doesn't rain."

 "Arkansas Traveler" first appeared in print in 1847. But the tune may have already been traditional before this attempt to further popularize it.

The Arkansas Traveler was a hit play in the mid 1850s in the taverns of Salem, Ohio, where travelers stayed. In the play a traveler finds a squatter at a cabin playing this tune. The squatter is trying to remember the end of the tune, which he learned in New Orleans. The entire play revolves around the squatter's efforts to remember the end of the tune and it is played in different keys to different times with much improvisation. The play would vary according to the skill of the musicians and their ability to improvise. The words are credited to David Stevens.

However, according to Vance Randolph, the words and music are usually credited to Colonel Sandford C. Faulkner (d. 1875), a "well-known Arkansas character." The story, according to Randolph, is that Faulkner was traveling on a political mission in Pope County, Arkansas in 1840 when he met a mountain fiddler who figures in the song. Faulkner told the tale at banquets and in barrooms. It was often repeated and Faulkner himself became known as the Arkansas Traveler. Several pictures of the Arkansas Traveler were done, and the likeness is that of Col. Faulkner. Also according Randolph, the play Kit, the Arkansas Traveler, by Edward Spencer of Baltimore, was first performed in Buffalo, NY in 1869.

The song was printed in New York circa 1850. It was later reprinted in The Arkansas Traveler's Songster (1864) with credit given to Mose Case as author and composer. In 1896 Century Magazine credited the music to Jose Tasso, a famous fiddler of the time.


THE ARMY BEAN

Unknown

There's a spot that the soldiers all love; the mess tent's the place that we mean,
And the dish that we like best to see is the old-fashioned white army bean.

Chorus
'Tis the bean that we mean, and we'll eat as we ne'er ate before;
The army bean, nice and clean - we'll stick to our beans evermore.

Now the bean in its primitive state is a plant we have all often met;
And when cooked in the old army style, it has charms we can never forget.

The German is fond of sauerkraut, the potato is loved by the Mick;
But the soldiers have long since found out that through life to our beans we should stick.


ARMY LEECHES
To the tune of EVACUATION DAY

'Tis strange indeed, in times like these, 
How many show their feeling 
And love of country, in a kind 
Of gently o'er me stealing! 
One man goes prating long and loud 
About our bleeding nation; 
But while the soldiers gape around 
He robs them of a ration.

Chorus
It's very true what I tell you, 
Indeed you need not doubt now, 
For upon my word and credit too. 
You may believe it all now.

Another, with a long face, he asks 
A blessing on our forces; 
He wants a chance to try his hand 
Contracting for horses! 

He's loyal to the Stars and Stripes, 
He voted, too, for Jackson; 
Long as his contract lasts, he says, 
"Old Abe, just lay the tax on!"

Another's oldest brother went 
To school with Mrs. Lincoln's; 
To show his love for country, he 
Would furnish it with tin cups! 
He'd like to cup old Uncle Sam, 
And try that style of bleeding; 
And all the while he prates about 
This abominable seceding!

Another wants a sutler's berth - 
To fight he isn't able, 
And so he'd like to do his share 

By furnishing the table! 
He loves his dear old country's Flag 
And Yankee Doodle Dandy; 
And so he shows his love for them 
By selling poisoned brandy.

Go where you choose, look where you will, 
You'll find these Army Leeches, 
In church, in Congress, on the stump, 
A making Union speeches. 
'Round barroom fires, on wint'ry nights, 

They drink their whisky toddy, 
While shiver, shiver, in the camps, 
The men they clothed in shoddy!

Away with all such men as these, 
Who rob our flag's defenders-- 
To Johnson and to Beauregard 
With all such base pretenders; 
And if, at all, our dear old flag 
Is to be rent asunder, 
Let it be done by rebel hands, 
And not by those of plunder.


Atchison's Buccaneers

Let others talk of Taylor, of Bragg and Captain May, 
Of Worth and Twiggs and Butler, who fought at Monterey
Much as we love these heroes, their fame a speck appears 
To the row, row, row, row, row, row, row of Atchison's Buchaneers. 

The Free State Men are spoonies, that shame their bonny nags, 
And bump upon their saddles like to a miller's bags; 
But we the Old Line Rangers, sit firm upon our rears 
'Mid the row, row, row, row, row, row, row of Atchison's Buchaneers. 

The President with wonder admires our jolly pranks; 
We come like claps of thunder upon the Yankee's flanks. 
Huzzah! We're bloody bandits, no common cavaliers! 
O, the row, row, row, row, row, row, row of Atchison's Buchaneers. 

Some people say we're fighting 'gainst Freedom's holy cause; 
But we hurrah for Atchison, who doesn't mind the Laws. 
And with our knives and pistols wipe out the man who jeers, 
At the row, row, row, row, row, row, row of Atchison's Buchaneers. 


We're patriots, we reckon, and slapping blades we be, 
For we've prevented Kansas, from ever being free. 
Let Freedom and the Eagle desert their lofty spheres, 
And bow before the Buck horns of Atchison's Buchaneers. 

Then sure to Senator Atchison our praises now are due. 
He drilled us Border Ruffians, and brought our worth to view. 
May he be in Buck's Cabinet for four right jolly years,
Through the row, row, row, row, row, row, row of Atchison's Buchaneers.


AULD LANG SYNE

Words By Robert Burns
Music - Traditional Scottish Air

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and days of auld lang syne?

Chorus
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne.
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne

We twa ha'e run aboot the braes, and pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary foot sin' auld lang syne.

We twa ha'e paidled I' the burn frae mornin' sun till dine;
But seas between us braid ha'e roared sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my trusty frien', and gie's a hand o' thine;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne.


AULD LANG SYNE

An American Version
Traditional Scottish Air

Oh, years have flown since first we met, and sorrows have been mine!
I
've often thought with fond regret on auld lang syne.

Chorus
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne;
We'll take a
cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne.

I felt, when to thy bosom press'd, that greater joys were mine
Than e
'er my youthful heart had known in auld lang syne.

Though fortune points thy path of life, far, far away from mine,
The hour may be when next we meet an auld lang syne.

Then fare-thee-well, if thou art bless'd, thy friend will not repine;
But sometime give a kindly thought to auld lang syne.

J. Andrews, No. 38 Chatham St., N. Y., Printer of Songs, Circulars, Cards, Labels, &c. &c.
Neat, Quick and Cheap.

 



AUNT DINAH
OR,
POOR AUNT DINAH

Sung By Mr. Kneass of the
New Orleans Serenaders
1850

I knew an old niggar Aunty once - she lived in Louisiana;
The white folks called her Dinah, but she called herself Diana!
Her eyes were bright, her teeth were white,
Her figure tall and slender,
Her arms were stout, her hands were tough,
But her good old heart was tender.

Chorus
Poor Aunt Dinah, poor Aunt Dinah,
Her arms were stout, her hands were tough,
But her good old heart was tender.

Old Aunty Dinah lived alone in her cabin by the river,
Where the white folks come, both young and old,
Their duty for to give her.
She taught them how to knit and spin, and maybe something finer -
But none could bake the good hoe-cake
As well as old Aunt Dinah.

Chorus
Poor Aunt Dinah, poor Aunt Dinah,
But none could bake the good hoe-cake
As well as old Aunt Dinah.

At last old Aunty Dinah died - she died of yellow fever -
And Massa laid her in the grave, where all shed tears to leave her.
They put on black in the Louisiana State,
And some in Carolina;
A slab of pine we put at her head,
And on it we wrote "Dinah."

Chorus
Poor Aunt Dinah, poor Aunt Dinah,
A slab of pine we put at her head,
And on it we wrote "Dinah."

JOHNSON has 600 different kinds of Songs, call and he will give you a Catalogue of them, then you can see his large assortment.


AUNT HARRIET BEECHA STOWE
Words By Charles Soran
Music By John Hill Hewitt
1853

I went to New York City a month or two ago,
A-hunting for dat lady - Aunt Harriet Becha Stowe.
I see'd de Abolitions - dey said she'd gone away,
Dey told me in de city it was no use to stay.
She take away de dollars, and put 'em in her pocket,
She laid her hand upon it, and dar she safely lock it.
Dey said if Massa come for me, den dey would quickly meet;
Dey'd make a lion of me, and gib me 'nuf to eat.

Oh! Oh! Oh! Aunt Harriet Becha Stowe!
How could you leave de Country and sarve poor nigga so.

Dey treated dis here child as doe I was a Turk,
Den tole me for to leave dem and go away to work;
I couldn't get no work, I couldn't get no dinner,
And den I wish dis fugitive was back to ole Virginny.
Oh! when I was a picanin', Ole Uncle Tom would say,
"Be true unto your Massa, and neber run away."
He tole me dis at home, he tole me dis at partin':
"Ned, don't you trust de white folks, for dey am quite unsartin."

Oh! Oh! Oh! Aunt Harriet Becha Stowe!
How could you leave de Country and sarve poor nigga so.

Ole Massa's very kind; ole Missus gentle, too,
And much I love my Dinah in old Virginny true.
Now I'll go back and stay dar, and neber more will roam;
Lor' bress de Southern Ladies, and my old Southern home!
But don't come back, Aunt Harriet, in England make a fuss;
Go talk against your Country, put money in yo' puss!
And when us happy niggers you pity in your prayer,
Oh! don't forget de WHITE SLAVES dat starvin' ober dare!

Oh! Oh! Oh! Aunt Harriet Becha Stowe!
How could you leave de Country and sarve poor nigga so.

Now de rules of dis here house don't 'mit of no encore,
So afore we go just listen, I'll sing you one verse more;
Aunt Harriet Beecha Stowe, she tried to see de Queen,
But Victoria was too smart for her and could not be seen.
She den went ober to France, and tried to come it dere,
But de Empress and de Emperor know'd 'zatly what dey were,
So de best way to fix it and hab it understood
Is dat she left her Country for her own country's good.

Go! Go! Go! Aunt Harriet Becha Stowe!
I'se glad you left de Country and don't come back no more.


AUNT JEMIMA'S PLASTER

OR,
SHEEPSKIN BEES WAX NO. 2
Words & Music By M.A.I.
1852

Aunt Jemima she was old, but very kind and clever,
She had a notion of her own that she would marry never;
She said that she'd live in peace, and none should be her master;
She made her living day by day, in selling of a plaster.

Chorus
Sheep-skin and bees wax made this awful plaster;
The more you try to get it off, the more it sticks the faster.
Sheep-skin and bees wax made this awful plaster
The more you try to get it off, the more it sticks the faster.

She had a sister very tall, and if she'd keep on growing,
She might have been a giant now - in fact, there is no knowing.
All of a sudden she become of her own height the master,
And all because upon each foot Jemima put a plaster.

There was a thief night and day kept robbing of the neighbors,
But none could find the rascal out, with all their tricks and labors
She set a trap upon her step, and caught him with a plaster -
The more he tried to get away, the more he stuck the faster.

Her neighbor had a Thomas cat that eat like any glutton;
It never caught a mouse or rat, but stole both milk and mutton.
To keep it home she tried her best, but ne'er could be its mast'r
Until she stuck it to the floor with Aunt Jemima's plaster.

Now if you have a dog or cat, a husband, wife, or lover,
That you would wish to keep at home, this plaster just discover;
And if you wish to live in peace avoiding all disaster,
Take my advice and try the strength of Aunt Jemima's plaster.

Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y., Dealer in Songs,
Games Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c., Wholesale and Retail.
 


Theorem Painting

AURA LEE

Words By William Whiteman Fosdick
Music By George F. Poulton
1861

When the blackbird in the spring, on the willow tree
Sat and rocked, I heard him sing, singing Aura Lee.
Aura Lee, Aura Lee, Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.

Chorus
Aura Lee, Aura Lee, Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.

In thy blush the rose was born, music when you spake;
Through thine azure eye the morn, sparkling seemed to break.
Aura Lee, Aura Lee, Bird of crimson wing,
Never song have sung to me, in that sweet spring.

Aura Lee! The bird may flee the willow's golden hair;
Swing through winter fitfully, on the stormy air.
Yet if thy blue eyes I see, gloom will soon depart;
For to me, sweet Aura Lee is sunshine through the heart.

When the mistletoe was green, midst the winter's snows,
Sunshine in thy face was seen, kissing lips of rose.
Aura Lee, Aura Lee, Take my golden ring;
Love and light return with thee,
And swallows with the spring.

Published by JOHNSON, the Great Song Publisher, No. 7 North Tenth Street, Philadelphia. 


AWAKE IN DIXIE

H.T.S.
Winchester, Virginia
February 24, 1862

To the tune of DIXIE'S LAND

Hear ye not the sound of battle, sabres' clash and muskets rattle;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
Hostile footsteps on your border, hostile columns march in order;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

Chorus
Oh fly to arms in Dixie! To arms! To arms!
From Dixie's land, we'll drive the band that comes to conquer Dixie!
To arms! To arms! and drive the foe from Dixie!
To arms! To arms! and drive the foe from Dixie!

See the red smoke hanging o'er us, hear the cannons' booming chorus -
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
See the Southern columns forming, see each heart with valor warming;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

All the Northern forces coming, hear the distant rapid drumming;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
Prouder ranks were backward driven, when our English bonds were riven;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

Gird your loins with flashing sabre, give your lives to Freedomís labor;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
What though every hearth be saddened, what though all the land be
reddened;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

Shall this boasting mad invader trample Dixie and degrade her?
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
By our fathers' proud example, Southern soil they shall not trample;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

Southrons meet them on the border - drive them into wild disorder;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
Strike the Vandals down before you, 'til the last inch they restore you;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

At the Northmen's threatened halter, Southern seamen scorn to falter;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
Southern heart-strings sternly tightened, at such shadows are not frightened;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

'Mong the hills, wild echoes flying, hear the Southern bugles crying;
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!
Spring from every hill and valley! Hark the summons! Rally! Rally!
Awake, awake, awake in Dixie!

Away down souf
Words And Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1848

We'll put for de Souf - Ah! Dat's the place
For the steeple chase and de bully hoss race;
Poker, brag, eucher, seven up and loo,
Den chime in, Niggas, won't you come along, too?

Chorus
No use talkin' when de Nigga wants to go
Whar de corntop blossom and de canebrake grow.
Den come along to Cuba, and we'll dance de Polka Juba,
Way down Souf, whar de corn grow.

My lub, she hab a very large mouf,
One corner in de Norf, t'udder corner in de Souf;
It am so long, it reach so far,
Trabble all around it on a railroad car.

I went last night to see my Sally -
Two story house in Pigtail Alley
Whar de skeeters buzz, and de fleas dey bite,
And de bull dogs howl and de tom cats fight.


away down south in
the land of traitors
Words: Anonymous
Music By Daniel Decatur Emmett
abt. 1862

Away down South in the land of traitors,
Rattlesnakes and alligators,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
Where cotton's king and men are chattels,
Union boys will win the battles,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.

Then we'll all go down to Dixie,
Away, away;
Each Dixie boy must understand
That he must mind his Uncle Sam.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.

I wish I was in Baltimore,
I'd make Secession traitors roar,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
We'll put the traitors all to rout,
I'll bet my boots we'll whip them out,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.


Then they'll wish they were in Dixie,
Away, away;
Each Dixie boy must understand
That he must mind his Uncle Sam.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.

Oh, may our Stars and Stripes still wave
Forever o'er the free and brave,
Right away, come away, right away, come away.
And let our motto ever be -
"For Union and for Liberty!"
Right away, come away, right away, come away.

Then we'll all go down to Dixie,
Away, away;
Each Dixie boy must understand
That he must mind his Uncle Sam.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.
Away, away, and we'll all go down to Dixie.


Away Goes Cuffee
Or,
Hooray for 63.
Words & Music by L.B. Starkweather
1863

O Abram Linkon las' September
Told de Souf, " 'Less you surrender
Afore de las' of next December, away goes Cuffee."

Chorus
For de cannon may boom when dey fight a big battle,
But de Darkey's no more as de sheep and de cattle,
For Freedom's watchman has sprung his rattle;
Hooray for sixty-three.

De Souf, dey's mad at Norf's invasion;
Said, "Abe Linkon's Proclamation
Dont go down in darkey nation -
Nor way goes Cuffee."

Dar's France, she favors Mediation;
England scorns dis rival nation
And wants to see a separation;
Away goes Cuffee.

But Abe sustains his trying station,
Says to France and English nation,
"Just stand back wid Mediation -
Away goes Cuffee."

De Yankee soldiers shout, "Hosanna!"
While dey wave de Spangled banner -
Bound for Charleston and Savannah,
Away goes Cuffee.

Richmond's walls Old Joe will batter;
How de Rebels den will scatter!
Hang Jeff D. and end dis matter,
Away goes Cuffee.

Boston : Oliver Ditson & Co., 1863



Home