A frog he would a-wooing go, um hmmm;
Abide with me - fast falls the eventide!
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little
I need Thy presence ev'ry passing hour -
I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless,
Hold Thou Thy Word before my closing eyes,
We ask not that the
slave should lie as lies his master at his ease,
We ask not "eye
for eye" that all who forge the chain and ply the whip
We mourn not that the
man should toil; 'tis nature's need, 'tis God's decree;
Abram Lincoln! he was
Abram Lincoln got
Abram Lincoln made a
Abram Lincoln! Who
Scott, he came to
Bull Creek Ford,
Abram Lincoln vowed
Lincoln lives in
Abram Lincoln, he
pile of pickaninny
Harnesses strong and
Oh! Kind folks
listen to my song, it is no idle story;
I've wandered all
over this country, prospecting and digging for gold;
I rolled up my grub
in my blanket, I left all my tools on the ground;
Arriving flat broke
in midwinter, I found it enveloped in fog,
When I looked on the
prospects so gloomy, the tears trickled over my face;
I tried to get out of
the country but poverty forced me to stay
And now that I'm
used to the climate, I think that if a man ever found
No longer a slave of
ambition, I laugh at the world and its shams,
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.
What bird is that, with voice so sweet,
What wind is that upon the cane?
Ah, no! Ah, no! It is a cheat.
I cannot cut the cane today-
White man, how I worked for you
I did not dream a slave could be
Freedom! I feel it when too late,
But hark! A gentle voice afar
I left Alabama a long
way behind me,
Oh, kind folks, all,
give ear to my ditty,
Andrews', Printer, 38 Chatham St, N.
Y., Dealer in Songs, Games, Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c., Wholesale and
A nigger in Alabama
lived, dey used to call him Joe;
Dis made dese niggers
all feel bad, to think he sarved him so,
His money he did will
away to Phillissy his spouse,
A nigger in Virginia
lived who heard of old Joe's death
Dis nigger war a
fisherman, a fisherman ob old,
Dis story that I now
relate, as a good old nigger said,
Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham
St., N. Y., Songs, Games, Toys, Books Motto Verses, &c.,
Alas! and did my Savior
Thy body slain, sweet
Was it for crimes that I
Well might the sun in
Thus might I hide my
But drops of grief can
Well, it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog,
ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME
ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME
All hail the power of Jesus' Name! Let angels prostrate
Let highborn seraphs tune the lyre, and as they tune it, fall
Crown Him, ye morning stars of light, Who launched this
Crown Him, ye martyrs of your God, who from His altar call;
Ye seed of Israel's chosen race, ye ransomed from the
Hail Him, ye heirs of David's line, Whom David Lord did
Sinners, whose love can ne'er forget the wormwood and the
Let every kindred, every tribe on this terrestrial ball
O that with yonder sacred throng we at His feet may fall!
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 quiet along
the Potomac," they say,
All quiet along the
There's only the sound of the lone
The moon seems to shine
just as brightly as then,
He passes the fountain, the blasted
All quiet along the Potomac tonight,
Thou art the King of Israel,
The company of angels
The people of the Hebrews
To Thee, before Thy passion,
Thou didst accept their praises;
The people endure all,
Hush-a-bye, don' you cry,
My country! 'tis of
thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing;
My native country!
thee, land of the noble free, thy name I love;
Let music swell the
breeze, and sing from all the trees sweet freedom's song;
Our fathers' God!
to thee, Author of Liberty! to Thee we sing;
What are lawyers made of?
What are our old maids
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
What are our young ladies
What are our Dandies made
What are New Yorkers made
What are Philadelphians
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 an
interest in the Savior's blood!
'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies!
Who can explore His strange design?
He left His Father's throne above (so
free, so infinite His grace!),
Long my imprisoned spirit lay fast bound
in sin and nature's night;
No condemnation now I
dread; Jesus, and
all in Him, is mine;
Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster
Angelina Baker lives
She won't do the bakin'
The last time I saw her,
Angelina taught me to
Way down on de old plantation - dah's
where I was born -
Angelina am so tall, she nebber sees de
Early in de morning ob a lubly
Maxwelton's braes are bonnie,
Like dew on the gloamin' lying,
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.
The young stars are glowing,
Approach, my soul, the mercy seat,
Thy promise is my only plea,
Bowed down beneath a load of sin,
Be Thou my Shield and hiding Place,
O wondrous love! to bleed and die,
Poor tempest tossed soul, be still;
Farewell farewell to thee, Araby's daughter;
Are we free? go ask the question
Arise, O God, and shine
Bring distant nations near
Put forth Thy glorious power
To God, the only Wise,
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.
.... 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?
Stranger: How long have you been living here?
Stranger: Can I stay here tonight?
Stranger: How long will it take me to get to the next
(The music starts)
Stranger: Well, how far do you call it to the next
Stranger: I am very dry, do you keep any spirits in your
Stranger: How do they cross this river
Stranger: How far is it to the fork
of the road?
Stranger: Give me some satisfaction if you please sir;
where does this road go to?
Oh, once upon a time in Arkansas, an old
man sat in his little cabin door,
"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.
There's a spot that the soldiers all
love; the mess tent's the place that we mean,
Now the bean in its primitive state is a
plant we have all often met;
The German is fond of sauerkraut,
potato is loved by the Mick;
'Tis strange indeed, in times like these,
Let others talk of Taylor, of Bragg and Captain May,
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and
never brought to mind?
We twa ha'e run aboot the braes, and pu'd
the gowans fine;
We twa ha'e paidled I' the burn frae
mornin' sun till dine;
And here's a hand, my trusty frien',
and gie's a hand o' thine;
Oh, years have flown since first we met,
and sorrows have been mine!
I felt, when to thy bosom
greater joys were mine
Though fortune points thy path of life,
far, far away from mine,
Then fare-thee-well, if thou art bless'd,
thy friend will not repine;
J. Andrews, No. 38 Chatham St., N. Y., Printer of Songs,
Circulars, Cards, Labels, &c. &c.
POOR AUNT DINAH
Sung By Mr. Kneass of the
New Orleans Serenaders
I knew an old niggar Aunty once - she lived in
Old Aunty Dinah lived alone in her cabin
by the river,
At last old Aunty Dinah died - she died of
yellow fever -
JOHNSON has 600 different kinds of Songs, call and he
will give you a Catalogue of them, then you can see his large assortment.
I went to New York City a month or two
Aunt Jemima she was old, but very kind and
She had a sister very tall, and if she'd
keep on growing,
There was a thief night and day kept
robbing of the neighbors,
Her neighbor had a Thomas cat that eat
like any glutton;
Now if you have a dog or cat, a husband,
wife, or lover,
Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y., Dealer
When the blackbird in the spring, on the willow tree
In thy blush the rose was born, music when you spake;
Published by JOHNSON, the Great Song Publisher, No. 7 North Tenth Street, Philadelphia.
Hear ye not the sound of battle, sabres' clash and muskets rattle;
See the red smoke hanging o'er us, hear the cannons'
booming chorus -
All the Northern forces coming, hear the distant rapid drumming;
Gird your loins with flashing
sabre, give your lives to Freedomís labor;
Shall this boasting mad invader trample Dixie and degrade her?
Southrons meet them on the border - drive them into wild disorder;
At the Northmen's threatened halter, Southern seamen scorn to falter;
'Mong the hills, wild echoes flying, hear the Southern bugles crying;
Away down souf
We'll put for de Souf - Ah! Dat's the place
My lub, she hab a very large
I went last night to see my Sally -
O Abram Linkon las' September
De Souf, dey's mad at Norf's invasion;
Dar's France, she favors Mediation;
But Abe sustains his trying
De Yankee soldiers shout, "Hosanna!"
Richmond's walls Old Joe will
Boston : Oliver
Ditson & Co., 1863