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Lee's songbook



Words By Lucy Larcom
To the tune of NELLY BLY

Yeoman strong, hither throng - nature's honest men!
We will make the wilderness bud and bloom again!

Bring the sickle, speed the plough, turn the ready soil;
Freedom is the noblest pay for the true man's toil.

Ho, brothers! Come, brothers! Hasten all with me.
We'll sing upon the Kansas plains a song of liberty.



Dar was a frog lived in a spring -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
He had such a cold dat he could not sing -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
I pulled him out and frowed him on de ground -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Old frog he bounced and run around -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.

Camo, kimo, daro, war, my high, my ho, my rumsti-pumididle;
Soot bag, pidly-winkem, link 'em, nip cat,
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.

Milk in the dairy nine days old -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Rats and skippers are getting bold -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
A long-tailed rat in a bucket of souce -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Just come down from the white folks' house -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.

In South Carolina the niggers grow -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
If de white man only plant his toe -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Water de ground with ‘bacca smoke -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
And up de nigger's head will poke -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.

Way down south in Cedar Street -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Dar's where the niggers grow ten feet -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Dey go to bed but ‘tain't no use -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.
Dar feet hang out for a chicken roost -
Sing song, Polly, won't you ki me, oh.

Wholesale Ag'ts for Balt. 
Printed and sold wholesale at HARRIS' CARD & JOB PRINTING OFFICE
S.E. cor. of Fourth and Vine Sts.

Camp Gals

O, don't you see the camp girls running, 
With their baskets in their hands? 
They are going to camp, to cheat or swindle 
Some poor soldier man. 
When Colonel Wagner sees them coming. 
With a mournful smile he stands; 
For well he knows their object is nothing, 
But to rob some soldier man.

Soldiers laugh, ha! ha! 
The girls, they laugh hey! hey! 
What will they do when the snow is falling, 
And when the camp is gone away?

Some soldiers there are from Kentucky, 
And think they are dreadful fast, 
They are sworn to have the best of living, 
As long as the bounty lasts. 
They will pay five dollars for a porgie fish, 
Some biscuits, eggs and ham, 
And the girls are sworn to never carry change, 
For the foolish contrabands.

CHORUS.--Soldiers laugh, ha! ha!

Some go that's married, some that's single, 
With a basket for a sham, 
They swear by faith that they never had a lover, 
Till they saw some soldier man. 
Sometimes they marry for to get his bounty, 
Or do the best they can, 
With his watch and money they skedaddle, 
And laugh at the soldier man.

CHORUS.-- Soldiers laugh, ha! ha!

If you should come home sick or wounded, 
You will meet them on the street, 
All dressed to death in the highest of fashion, 
Looking very neat. 
If they find out you have got no money, 
They have no time to stand, 
They tell you quick you have got no bounty, 
You are wounded soldier man.

Sold by R. H. Singleton, Bookseller, Stationer, and Periodical Dealer
Post Office Building, Nashville, Tennessee
Sent to any address by mail, on receipt of Five Cents.
A large variety of Books, Magazines, Newspapers,
Maps, Stationery, Portfolios, Photographic Albums,
And every thing in the line always on hand.

The Campbells Are Coming

The Campbells are comin', O ho! O ho!
The Campbells are comin', O ho! O ho?
The Campbells are comin'
From bonnie Loch Lomond.
The Campbells are comin', O ho! O ho!

The great Argyle he goes before,
He makes the guns and cannons roar.
Wi' sound o' trumpet, pipe and drum,
And banners waving in the sun.

Wi' bonnet blue, old Scotia's pride,
And braid Claymore hung at their side,
Wi' plumes all nodding in the wind,
They ha'e no left a man behind.

Hark! Hark! the Pibroch's sound I hear,
Now bonnie lassie din na' fear;
Tis honour calls, I must away,
Argyle's the word--and ours the day.


Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster

De Camptown ladies sing dis song: Du da, du da!
De Camptown racetrack five miles long - Oh, du da day!
I come down dah wid my hat caved in - Du da, du da!
I go back home wid a pocket full of tin - Oh, du da day!

Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day!
I bet my money on de bobtail hoss - somebody bet on de bay.

De long tail filly and de big black hoss - Du da, du da!
Dey fly de track and dey both cut across - Oh, du da day!
De blind hoss sticken in a big mud hole - Du da, du da!
Can't touch bottom wid a ten foot pole - Oh, du da day!

Wooly Moon come on to de track - Du da, du da!
De bobtail fling her ober his back - Oh, du da day!
Den fly along like a railroad car - Du da, du da!
Runnin' a race wid a shootin' star - Oh, du da day!

De bobtail horse, he can't be beat - Du da, du da!
Runnin' around in a two mile heat - Oh, du da day!
I win my money on de bobtail nag - Du da, du da!
An' carry it home in de ole tow-bag - Oh, du da day!

Dar's fourteen horses in dis race - Du da, du da!
I'm snug in saddle, an' got good brace - Oh, du da day!
De sorrel horse, he's got a cough - Du da, du da!
An' his rider's drunk in de old hayloft - Oh, du da day!

"Camptown Races" depicts the typical community that sprang up around horse races on the outskirts of frontier cities in Foster's day. Laborers and transients lived in shanties and tents - a camptown. Foster may have visited such places around Pittsburgh and Cincinnati.


We will sing of the boys who make the loudest noise,
And from fighting you can scarcely restrain them. Aha!
They have guns, howitzers, rifles, and other sorts of trifles,
To send soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Oh! ho ho! Ah, ha! ha!
The good times, boys, are a-coming;
Oh, never mind the weather, but get over double trouble
When you're bound for the "Happy Land of Canaan".

We will sing of Number One - he comes first upon the gun,
And works like a horse without complaining. Aha!
will let you know that he is not too slow
In sending soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Next comes Number Two. He has as much as he can do
To make the enemy think 'tis iron raining. Aha!
will let you know that he is not too slow
At sending soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Then comes Number Three, who, brisk as he can be,
His thumb upon the vent he's retaining. Aha!
will let you know that he is not too slow
At sending soldiers to the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Next comes Number Four, who, to make the matter sure,
Pulls the lanyard with a steady sort of straining. Aha!
And then, with loud report, King Death cries out "Come into court
If you're going to the 'Happy Land of Canaan'.

Next comes Number Five, who, to keep his game alive,
Proves his legs must have the right sort of training. Aha!
For, with cartridge in his pouch, you can see he's no slouch
At sending soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Then comes Number Six, who works hard his little tricks
For fear the others he'll be detaining. Aha!
And he knows - to help the fight - he must cut the fuses right
So as to send them to the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Next comes Number Seven, to whom important place is given;
Like Five, his legs must have the right sort of training. Aha!
For both of them must run 'tween the limber and the gun
If they're going to the "Happy Land of Canaan".

And here's to Number Eight, who with patience has to wait,
Though in this he's slightly given to complaining. Aha!
So he helps our Number Six, with all his little tricks
At sending soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

Now it never would be right if the Corporal we should slight,
For he's the bully boy that does the aiming. Aha!
With his screw and his trail, we hope he'll never fail
At sending soldiers past the "Happy Land of Canaan".

But what are we about? We have left the Sergeant out;
No doubt of this slight he'll be complaining. Aha!
But he's a sort of Boss, you know, and we keep him more for show
Than sending soldiers to the "Happy Land of Canaan".

The Captain With His Whiskers
Words By Thomas Bayley
Music By Sidney Nelson

As they marched through the town with their banners so gay
I went to the window to hear the band play,
And I peeped through the blinds very cautiously then
Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the men.
I heard the drum beat and the music so sweet
But my eyes at the moment caught a much greater treat,
For the troop was the first that ever I did see
And the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me.

When we met at the ball, I of course thought it right
To pretend that we never had met till that night.
But he knew me at once, 1 perceived at a glance,
So I hung down my head when he asked me to dance.
He sat by my side at the end of the set,
And the sweet words he told me, I never can forget.
For my heart was enlisted and could not get free
When the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me.

Though he marched from the town, and I saw him no more,
Yet I think of him still and the whiskers he wore.
I dream all the night, and I talk all the day
Of the love of a captain who has gone far away.
I remember with superabundant delight
When we met in the street, and we danced all the night,
And I keep in my mind how my heart jumped with glee
When the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me.

But there's hope! For a friend just ten minutes ago
Said the captain had returned from the war, and I know
He'll be looking for me with considerable zest,
And when he has found me you all know the rest.
Perhaps he is here, let me look 'round the house,
Keep still every one of you , as still as a mouse.
For if that dear captain is here he will be
With his whiskers a-taking a sly glance at me.

The original was written in the 1820s, without mention of whiskers. The whiskers were apparently added during the 1850's, when such facial adornment became popular.  

carry me back to tennessee

Castles In The Air

The bonnie, bonnie bairn, wha sits poking in the ase,
Glow'ring in the fire wi' his wee round face;
Laughing at the fuffin' lowe, what see he there?
Ha! the young dreamers' biggin castles in the air.
His wee chubby face, and his touzie eurly pow,
Are laughing and nodding to the dancing lowe;
He'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair,
Glo'ring at the imps wi' their castles in the air.
He sees muckle castles towering to the moon!
He sees little sodgers pu'ing them a' doun!
Worlds whombling up and doun, bleezing wi' a flare,
See how he loups! as they glimmer in the air.

For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken?
He's thinking upon naething, like mony mighty men;
A wee thing mak's us think, a sma thing mak's us stare,
There are mair folk than him bigging castles in the air.
Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld:
His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak' him auld;
His brow is brent sae braid, O pray that daddy Care,
Would let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air!
He'll glower at the fire! and keek at the light!
But mony sparkling stars are swallow'd up by Night;
Aulder een than his are glamoured by a glare,
Hearts are broken, heads are turn'd, wi' castles in the air!


To the tune of DEAREST MAY

'Way down in Alabama whar de pine tree grow,
I knew a charming yellow gal, an' her name was Emma Snow;
Her eyes were bright as diamonds, her teeth was pearly white,
Dey glistened in de darkness, as de stars do in de night.

But that happy time is over, I've only grief and pain,
For I shall never, never see my Emma dear again.

We used to go out early to hoe de sugar cane;
De time did pass so cheerly, when my dear Emma I seen.
She trabbled wid me daily, an' I loved her still the same,
As we danced and sung so gaily to the banjo's sweetest strain .

But that happy time hath sorrow, its day is turned to night,
For I lost my dearest Emma by a cruel black snake bite.
We missed her in de evening, an' we hunted far and wide,
Den found her in de meadow whar she sickened and she died.

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


Lyricist Unknown
Music By Henry Russell

Cheer, boys, cheer! We'll march away to battle!
Cheer, boys, cheer! For our sweethearts and our wives!
Cheer, boys, cheer! We'll nobly do our duty,
And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.

Bring forth the flag, our country's noble standard;
Wave it on high till the wind shakes each fold out.
Proudly it floats, nobly waving in the vanguard;
Then cheer, boys, cheer! With a lusty, long, bold shout.

But as we march, with heads all lowly bending,
Let us implore a blessing from on high.
Our cause is just, the right we're defending,
And the God of battle will listen to our cry.

Tho' to the homes we never may return,
Ne'er press again our lov'd ones in our arms,
O'er our lone graves their faithful hearts will mourn,
Then cheer, boys, cheer! Such death hath no alarms.

English Version
Music By Henry Russell - 1850

Cheer boys, cheer! Still forward never fearing
High o'er the dark cloud hope is gleaming bright
See in our front the foeman now appearing
On, gallant warriors! On to the fight.

On ever dauntless! Shell and cannon daring;
Though on the dread heights, death and wounds are rife,
Firm and unflinching, Britain's banner bearing,
Ne'er let your courage waver and the strife.

Cheer, boys, cheer! For freedom's light is o'er us
Cheer, boys, cheer! For loving hearts and home
Cheer, boys, cheer! There's honour bright before us
Cheer, boys, cheer! For the victory to come.

Cheer, boys, cheer! Each warrior bosom gathers
New strength and courage on the battle field
Fight, boys, fight, let the spirit of our fathers
Now in the deeds of their sons be revealed.

Fight, bravely fight,! Shall we like cowards falter?
No! free-born Britons ever shall be free,
Ne'er shall a tyrant aught of Britain alter,
But freedom's flag shall wave o'er land and sea.

Cheer, boys, cheer! For freedom's light is o'er us
Cheer, boys cheer! For liberty and fame!
Cheer, boys, cheer! There's honour bright before us
Cheer, boys, cheer, for a great and noble name!

Cheer, boys, cheer! In valour never failing
On to the conflict Heaven is our aid
God is our shield, over all our foes prevailing
Trust in his mighty arm ne'er be dismayed.

God, the god of battles, he will defend us
He will be our guardian and guide ever be
He will salvation and victory send us
He is the God of the brave and the free.

Cheer, boys cheer! For heaven watches o'er us
Cheer, boys, cheer! Undaunted let us stand
Cheer, boys, cheer! There's victory before us
Cheer, boys cheer, for our Queen and our fatherland.

Music & Lyrics By William Billings

Let tyrants shake their iron rod,
And slav'ry clank her galling chains;
We fear them not, we trust in God,
New England's God forever reigns.

When God inspir'd us for the fight,
Their ranks were broke, their lines were forc'd;
Their ships were shatter'd in our sight,
Or swiftly driven from our coast.

The Foe comes on with haughty stride,
Our troops advance with martial noise;
Their vet'rans flee before our youth,
And Gen'rals yield to beardless boys.

What grateful off'ring shall we bring?
What shall we render to the Lord?
Loud halleluiahs let us sing,
And praise his name on ev'ry chord.

The music is found in William Billings' The Singing Master's Assistant, published in Boston in 1778.  Originally set to a hymn's lyrics, CHESTER became the unofficial anthem of the American Revolution once it was fitted out by Billings with these new and fiery words.  

Ching A Ring Chaw
Sambo's Address To His Bred'ren
Words & Music Anonymous

Broder, let us leabe Buera lan' for Hettee,
Dar you be receibe' gran' as La Fayettee;
Make a mity show w'en we lan' from steamship -
I be like Munro, you like Louis Philip.

Chinger ringer, ring ching, ching
Ho ah, dingah ding kum darkee,
Chinger ringer, ring ching chaw,
Ho ah ding kum darkey.

Oh, dat equal sod hoo no want to go-e
Dare we feel no rod, dar we hab no fo-e;
Dar we lib so fine wid our coach and hors-e,
An' ebery time we dine, hab one, two, t'ree, four, corsee-e.

No more carry bed, no more oister opee,
No more dig de sod, no more krab de slop-e;
But hab whiskers gran', an' promenade de stove-e,
Wid beauties ob de lan' war we in full dress meet-e.

No more carry bag an' wid a nail and tick-e,
Nasty dirty rag, wit gutter pick-e;
No more barrow wheel all about de street-e,
No more baige to tred, den by Massa beat-e.

No more white man stare w'en he stand in mob-e,
And felt our lubly fair, which make 'em sigh and sob-e;
Dar our wibes be gran', and in di'mon's shin-e.
While ebery kullered man hab much he drink ob wine-e.

Dar we make de best sugar, fetch from Havanna,
While our dorters fair play on de piano;
No more cry bad corn, or pepper pot all hot-e,
But work de lubly korn, and res' in sturdy grad-e.

No more our sons cry weep, no more he be the back-e,
No more our dorters weep kase dey all call 'em black-e;
No more dey wan' to be, no more wash and cook-e,

But ebery day we see 'em read de novel book-e.

No more wid black and handshake bond and shoe to shin-e,
But hab all tidings flash, and all ob 'em sublim-e;
No more dance for eel - am all dat kind of fish-e,
No more cat corn meal, but hab de best ob dish-e,

Dar we hab parties big, dar dance an play de fiddle,
Der waltz an hab de jig, cast off an' down de middle;
Den in gran' saloon we take the blushin' damsel,
Where eyes shine like de moon, an' ebery mood de cram full.

Dar dance at nite de jig - what white man call cotillion -
In hall so mity big it hole haff a million;
Den take our partners out, den forward two mallock-e
De cross an turn about, an' den go home in hack-e.

Dar, too, we are sure to make our dorters de fine lad-e,
And w'en de husban's take, dey love de common grad-e;
An' den perhaps our son, he rise in glorious splender,
An' be like Washington, be contry's defender.

Christ The Lord Is Risen Today

Words By Charles Wesley, 1739
Music: "Easter Hymn",  Lyra Davidica, 1708

Christ, the Lord, is risen today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth, reply, Alleluia!

Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!
Lo! the Sun's eclipse is over, Alleluia!
Lo! He sets in blood no more, Alleluia!

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal, Alleluia!
Christ hath burst the gates of hell, Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids His rise, Alleluia!
Christ hath opened Paradise, Alleluia!

Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Once He died our souls to save, Alleluia!
Where thy victory, O grave? Alleluia!

Soar we now where Christ hath led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!

Hail, the Lord of earth and heaven, Alleluia!
Praise to Thee by both be given, Alleluia!
Thee we greet triumphant now, Alleluia!
Hail, the resurrection day, Alleluia!

King of glory, Soul of bliss, Alleluia!
Everlasting life is this, Alleluia!
Thee to know, Thy power to prove, Alleluia!
Thus to sing and thus to love, Alleluia!

Hymns of praise then let us sing, Alleluia!
Unto Christ, our heavenly King, Alleluia!
Who endured the cross and grave, Alleluia!
Sinners to redeem and save. Alleluia!

But the pains that He endured, Alleluia!
Our salvation have procured, Alleluia!
Now above the sky He's King, Alleluia!
Where the angels ever sing. Alleluia!

Jesus Christ is risen today, Alleluia!
Our triumphant holy day, Alleluia!
Who did once upon the cross, Alleluia!
Suffer to redeem our loss, Alleluia!

Traditional Appalachian Song

Oh, have you seen my Cindy? She lives away down South,
And she's so sweet that honeybees just swarm around her mouth.

Get along home, Cindy, Cindy; get along home, Cindy, Cindy;
Get along home, Cindy, Cindy; I'll marry you some day.

The first I seen my Cindy, she was standin' in the door;
Shoes and stockings in her hand, her feet all over the floor.

Cindy in the summertime, Cindy in the fall;
If I can't have Cindy all the time, I'll have no one at all.

She took me to her parlor, she took me by the hand;
She said I was the prettiest thing in the shape of mortal man.

She kissed me an she hugged me, she called me "Sugar Plum";
She throwed her arms around me, and I thought my time had come.

Cindy is a pretty girl, Cindy is a peach;
She threw her arms around my neck and hung on like a leach.

Cindy got religion - tell you what she done:
Walked up to the minister a-chewin' her chawin' gum.

Cindy got religion - she'd got it once before;
When she hears my old banjo, she's the first one on the floor.

Cindy got religion and really went to town;
Got so full of glory, Lord, she shook her stockings down.

Now if I was a sugar tree standin' in the town,
Every time my Cindy passed, I'd shake some sugar down.

If I had a pretty gal I'd put her on a shelf;
Ev'ry time she smiled at me, I'd jump right up myself.

Cindy had one blue eye; she also had one brown.
One eye looked in the country, the other one looked in town

I wish I was an apple, a-hangin' on a tree,
An' every time my Cindy passed, she'd take a bite of me.

And if I had a needle and thread, as fine as I could sew,
I'd sew that gal to my coat tails and down the road we'd go.

Published By J.H. Johnson

I'm a darkey from the country, Oh! I came to see the Baby Show;
At Barnum's Museum I did see the Babies on their mamma's knee.
The biggest Babe I ever saw was a babe that came from Arkansas,
As fat and as black as a Thomas cat, a-cryin' for his daddy, oh!

Clap your hands till daddy comes home,
Clap your hands till daddy comes home,
Hegeldy, Ogeldy, my black hen, she lays eggs for gentlemen.

This baby had a daddy, Oh? It's a fact, or I wouldn't told you so.
With calico eyes and gimblet hair, enough to make his daddy stare;
And then he took it on his knee, and says, "You little duck I see,
I really think you look like me - at least, your Mammy told me so.

This baby's daddy went to sea and left him on his mammy's knee;
He fought in the wars of Mexico to buy the baby a trumpet, oh!
And then she took it on her knee by the single double rule of three,
She gave it some pady garic, oh! And sent it up to glory, oh!


Clare De Kitchen
De Kentucky Screamer
Words & Music By Thomas Dartmouth "Daddy" Rice

In old Kentuck' in de arternoon,
We sweep de floor wid a bran new broom;
And arter dat we form a ring,
And dis de song dat we do sing:

Clare de kitchen old folks, young folks,
Clare de kitchen old folks, young folks,
Old Virginny never tire.

I went to de creek - I couldn't git across,
I'd nobody wid me but an old blind horse;
But old Jim Crow came riding by,
Says he, "Old feller, your horse will die."
It's -

My horse fell down upon de spot;
Says he, "Don't you see his eyes is sot."
So I took out my knife and off wid his skin,
And when he comes to life, I'll ride him agin.
So -

A Jay bird sot on a hickery limb,
He wink'd at me and I wink'd at him;
I pick'd up a stone and hit his shin.
Says he, "You better not do that agin."
So -

A bull frog dress'd in soger's close
Went in de field to shoot some crows;
De crows smell powder and fly away -
De bull frog mighty mad dat day.
So -

Den down I went wid Cato Moore
To see de steamboat come ashore;
Every man for himself, so I picked up a trunk,
"Leff off," said de Captain, "Or I burn you wid a chunk."
And -

I hab a sweetheart in dis town,
She wears a yellow striped gown;
And when she walks de street around,
De hollow of her foot make a hole in de ground.
Now -

Dis love is a ticklish t'ing you know,
It makes a body feel all over so.
I put de question to coal black Rose,
She as black as ten of spades, and got a lubly flat nose.
So -

"Go away," says she, "Wid your cowcumber shin;
If you come here agin, I stick you wid a pin."
So I turned on my heel and I bid her good bye,
And arter I was gone she began to cry.
So -

So now I'se up and off, you see,
To take a julep sangeree;
I'll sit upon a tater hill,
And eat a little whippoorwill.
So -

I wish I was back in old Kentuck',
For since I left it I had no luck;
De gals so proud dey won't eat mush,
And when you go to court 'em dey say, "O hush!"
Its -



Lyrics from The Social Lyrist
To the tune of AULD LANG SYNE

Seek not with gold or glitt'ring gem
My simple heart to move;
To share a kingly diadem
Would never gain my love.
The heart that's form'd in virtue's mold
For heart should be exchanged;
The love that once is bought by gold
May be by gold estranged.

Can wealth relieve the labouring mind,
Or calm the soul to rest?
What healing balm can riches find
To soothe the bleeding breast?
'Tis love, and love alone has power
To bless without alloy;
To cheer affliction's darkest hour
And heighten ev'ry joy.

From The Social Lyrist, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania; 1840


Lyricist Unknown
Originally An 1855 College Song Of The Same Title

Raise the banner, raise it high, boys, let it float against the sky;
"God be with us" this our cry boys - under it we'll do or die.

Arise to glory, glory, glory;
Our country calls - march on! march on!

Rebel miscreants stand from under! Ye who breathe the traitor's name!
Every star's a bolt of thunder - every stripe a living flame!

Second Chorus
By our patriot sires in glory - by our sainted Washington--
We will fight till every Tory falls that breathes beneath the sun!

By our homes, our hearths, and altars - by our children, sweethearts, wives -
He who from our Union falters dies, hath he a thousand lives!

Under Grant our valiant leader we will lay the traitors low;
Crushed to earth each vile seceder soon shall to our vengeance bow.

Abraham! Thy name shall cheer us ‘mid the war-field's bloody strife;
Old Fort Sumter yet shall hear us call her battlements to life!

God of battles, we implore Thee, Nerve our souls, make strong our arms;
Bless us as we bow before Thee in the midst of war's alarms

Our spangled banner waving o'er us, we come - avengers of the free!
Shout , boys, shout! The foe's before us! Union - God - and Liberty!

Colored Volunteer
By Tom Craig

Fremont, he boldly told us, 
When this cruel war begun, 
How to save the Union 
And how it should be done; 
Kentucky strove so hard, 
And Old Abe he had his fears, 
And that was all about the Colored Volunteers.

Give us the flag, all free without one slave, 
And we will defend it as our fathers did so brave. 
Onward! boys, onward! it's the year of Jubilee, 
God bless America, the land of Liberty.

McClellan went to Richmond, 
With two hundred thousand braves, 

Says he, "Keep back the Negroes, 
And I'll the Union save." 
But little Mac, he was defeated, 
Now the Union is in tears, 
Now they are all calling on the Colored Volunteers.

Jeff Davis says he'll hang us, 
If we dare to meet him in arms, 
It's a very big thing, 
But we are not alarmed; 
He has first got to catch us, 
Before his way is clear, 
For there is not a faint heart in the Colored Volunteer.

Then here is to the Fifty-Fourth, 
Which has been nobly tried, 
They were willing, they were ready, 
With their bayonets by their side, 
Gen. Birney led them on, 
And he had no cause to fear, 
About the courage of the Colored Volunteer.

So we'll rally! Boys, rally! 
And we need not heed the past; 

We had a hard road to travel, 
But our days are come at last, 
God for our aid, 
We have no cause to fear, 
And that is the Motto of the Colored Volunteer.

A. W. Auner, Song Publisher, N. E. Corner of  Eleventh & Market, Philadelphia

Conflict: Light shining
out of darkness

Come along john, the piper's son


Since Massa went to war, the deuce has been to pay,
De cotton-pickin' darkies hab all run away;
Some are up at Richmon' - de good for noffin' scamps -
And some are diggin' muck in de Union army camps.

Den come back, Massa, come back,
Oh, come back, Massa, come back;
Shake hands with Uncle Sam, and be a Union man,
And sabe de ole plantation.

Ole Missus once was gay, and dressed in satin fine,
Now she's awful poor, and wears no crinoline;
De prog is mighty high, de money awful scarce,
And Linkum's got a mortgage on de niggers ob de place.

De 'possum and de coon are as sassy as you please
Since all de blooded dogs were toted off by fleas;
De measles toted off all de cunnin' little nigs,
And de sojers ob de army hab toted off de pigs!

What de war is all about, dis darkie doesn't know,
But he thinks dat Mars'r Davis has a mighty slim show;
Down here in ole Virginny, Ole Harry's to pay,
Den come back Mars'r, or dis darkie'll run away.

Johnson, Song Publisher, 7 N. 10th Street, Phila. Music Published by WM. HALL & SON, 543 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. See Prof. Brooks' Ball Room Monitor. This little Book will give you more Instruction in Dancing than any book ever Published. Price of it is only 15 cents, sold by J. H. JOHNSON No. 7 North 10th Street, Philadelphia.

Composed & Arranged By BRINLEY RICHARDS

Come dearest, the daylight is gone, the stars are unveiling to thee;
Come wander my loved alone if alone thou can'st call it with me.
Let us go where the wild flowers bloom amid the soft dew of the night;
Where the orange dispels its perfume and the rose speaks of love and light.



As it was rather warm, I thought the other day,
I'd find some cooler place the summer months to stay;
I had not long been gone, when a paper to me came,
And in a list of conscripts I chanced to see my name.
I show'd it to my friends, and at me they all laugh'd;
They said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft.

Oh, soon I hurried home, for I felt rather blue;
I thought I'd ask my dad what I had better do.
Says he, "You are not young, you're over thirty-five;
The best thing you can do, sir, is go and take a bride."
My mother on me smiled, my brother at me laugh'd,
And said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft.

I soon made up my mind that I would take a wife;
For she could save my cash, and I could save my life.
I call'd upon a friend, I offer'd her my hand,
But she said she "Couldn't see it, for she loved some other man."
She told it to her ma, and at me they both laugh'd,
And said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft.

So next I advertised, and soon a chap I found
Who said that he would go for just two hundred down.
I took him home to sleep. Says I, "Now I'm all right."
But, when I awoke, I found that he'd robbed me in the night!
I went and told the mayor: the people round me laugh'd,
And said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft.

I to the provost's went, my "notice" in my hand;
I found a crowd around, and with it took my stand.
I waited there till night, from early in the morn,
And, when I got inside, my pocket-book was gone!
I thought I should go mad! but everybody laugh'd,
And said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft.

I've tried to get a wife, I've tried to get a "sub,"
But what I next shall do, now, really, is the "rub."
My money's almost gone, and I am nearly daft;
Will some one tell me what to do to get out of the draft?
I've ask'd my friends all round, but at me they all laugh'd,
And said, "How are you, conscript? Come in out of the draft."

Come On, My Fellow Pilgrims, Come

Come on, my fellow-pilgrims come,
O glory, hallelujah! 
We're on our way to Zion,

We have some trials here below;
O glory, hallelujah! 
By and by we'll go and leave them.

We'll bear with all our sufferings here.
O glory, hallelujah! 
There's a better day coming.

A few more beating winds and rains,
O glory, hallelujah! 
Then winter will be over.

Let winds blow high, let winds blow low,
O glory, hallelujah! 
We're making for the harbor.

We have some friends before us gone,
O glory, hallelujah! 
By and by we'll go and and meet them.

We'll meet around our Father's throne,
O glory, hallelujah! 
And be with him forever.

Farewell, vain world, we're going home,
O glory, hallelujah! 
We soon shall meet our Saviour.

O what a happy day 'twill be
O glory, hallelujah! 
When we all meet in Heaven.

O, how it lifts my soul to think
O glory, hallelujah! 
Of meeting in the Kingdom.

There through a long eternity,
O glory, hallelujah! 
We'll praise our Redeemer,

O, who will come and go with me?
O glory, hallelujah! 
My home is over Jordan!

Come Raise Me In Your Arms,
Dear Brother
E. Bowers and P. B. Isaacs

Come raise me in your arms, dear brother,
And let me see that glorious sun,
For I am weary, faint, and dying,
How could that battle lost or won. 

I remember you, my brother,
Sent to me that fatal dart;
Brothers fighting against brothers,
Well, 'tis well that thus they part. 

Father fighting for the Union,
You will meet him on the field;
How could you raise your hand to smite him,
How could you bid our father yield? 

He who loved us in our childhood,
Taught us infant prayers we said;
Brother, I am surely dying,
Shall soon be numbered with the dead. 

Do you ever think of mother
In that home far in the land?
Watching, praying for her children,
If I could see that home again! 

Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perished by his brother,
Not one word of that be said. 

Brother, take from me a warning,
Keep that secret you have won,
For it would kill our aged old mother
If she knew what you have done. 


Come, Thou almighty King,
Help us Thy Name to sing; help us to praise!
Father all glorious, over all victorious,
Come and reign over us, Ancient of Days!

Come, Thou incarnate Word,
Gird on Thy mighty sword; our prayer attend!
Come, and Thy people bless, and give Thy Word success,
Spirit of holiness, on us descend!

Come, holy Comforter,
Thy sacred witness bear in this glad hour.
Thou who almighty art, now rule in every heart,
And never from us depart, Spirit of power!

To Thee, great One in Three,
Eternal praises be, hence, evermore.
Thy sovereign majesty may we in glory see,
And to eternity love and adore!

come, thou fount of every blessing
Words By Asahel Nettleton

Come, thou fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing thy grace; 
Streams of mercy never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise. 

Teach me some melodious measure,
Sung by raptured saints above; 
Fill my soul with sacred pleasure,
While I sing redeeming love. 

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God; 
He, to save my soul from danger,
Interposed his precious blood. 

O, to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be! 
Let thy grace, Lord, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to thee. 

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it;
Prone to leave the God I love; 
Here's my heart; O, take and seal it;
Seal it from thy courts above.

come we that love the lord

Come, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known; 
Join in a song with sweet accord,
And thus surround the throne. 

The sorrows of the mind
Be banished from the place; 
Religion never was designed
To make our pleasures less. 

Let those refuse to sing,
Who never knew our God; 
But children of the heavenly King
May speak their joys abroad. 

The hill of Zion yields
A thousand sacred sweets, 
Before we reach the heavenly fields,
Or walk the golden streets. 

Then let our songs abound,
And every tear be dry; 
We're marching through Immanuel's ground,
To fairer worlds on high. 

Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming

Stephen Foster

Come where my love lies dreaming,
Dreaming the happy hours away,
In visions bright redeeming
The fleeting joys of day;

Soft is her slumber;
Thoughts bright and free
Dance through her dreams
Like gushing melody;
Light is her young heart,
Light may it be:
Come where my love lies dreaming,
Dreaming the happy hours away

"Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming" (1855) is Stephen Foster's most noted composition for four voices. It was extremely popular among choral groups for over one hundred years.



Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you, full of pity, love and power.

Come, ye thirsty, come, and welcome, God's free bounty glorify;
True belief and true repentance, every grace that brings you nigh.

Let not conscience make you linger, nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth is to feel your need of Him.

Come, ye weary, heavy laden, lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you're better, you will never come at all.

View Him prostrate in the garden; on the ground your Maker lies.
On the bloody tree behold Him; sinner, will this not suffice?

Lo! th' incarnate God ascended pleads the merit of his blood:
Venture on Him, venture wholly, let no other trust intrude.



If a body meet a body with a sword and gun,
If a body greet a body, need a body run?
If the lad who loves me dearly comes to say good-bye,
Since he's gone to fight for freedom, need a body cry?

Among the ranks there is a swain, a youth I love full well;
That he will fight for truth and right, I'm not ashamed to tell.
Every lassie has her laddie, sad and proud am I;
Mine has gone to serve his country, fight, and maybe, die.

If a body meet a body comin' from the war,
If a body kiss a body, need a body scare?
If the town are lookin' on, nothing care would I,
I'd kiss him in the face of all - kiss, and maybe, cry.

Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort St. N.Y. 
500 Illustrated Ballads, lithographed and printed by
CHARLES MAGNUS, No. 12 Frankfort Street, New York. 
Branch Office: No. 520 7th St., Washington, D. C.

the compromise song

The Confederate Signal Corps Song


To the tune of KINGDOM COMING

Say, Conscripts, have you got your notice to gird your armor on,
And go to fight for Uncle Sammy way down at Washington?
The draft has changed our occupations, and though our feet are sore,
We are now coming Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more.

They took us all, ha! ha!
We could not stay, hey! Hey!
And while we march for the Kingdom Coming,
We will sing the Conscript's Lay.

We are a hungry, healthy army of hunkey "first class" men;
All going to fight for the dear old Union, to have it sound again.
With that old banner waving o'er us, oh boys, we surely can
Whip Beauregard, Johnston, Lee, Jeff Davis, "or any other man.

We're going because the nation needs us, and while we're in the muss,
We're going to whip the rebels certain, or else there'll be a fuss.
There's not a Copperhead among us our record fair to stain;
Nor are we troubled with that disorder called corpus on the brain.

We couldn't raise our little "three hundred," but still we don't much care;
We are a hearty band of brothers, who never sweat a hair.
You'll see us back one of these fine mornings, when peace "has come to
And then we never shall be sorry, we sung the Conscript's Lay.

Final Chorus
We'll bang away, ha! ha!
The rebs must cave, hey! Hey!
And they'll ask us over in the Kingdom Coming,
How are you Conscript's Lay?

Respectfully Dedicated to Richard Cogan, Esq. See Prof. Brooks' Ball Room Monitor, it will give you more Instruction in Dancing than any book ever Published. Sold by Johnson, No. 7 North Tenth Street Philadelphia.


Mine heart ish proken into little pits, I tells you, friend, what for;
Mine schweetheart, von coot patriotic kirl, she trives me off mit der war.
I fights for her, der pattles of the flag; I schtrikes to prove as I can;
Put now long time she nix remempers me, and coes mit another man.

Ah! mein fraulein! You ish so ferry unkind;
You coes mit Hans to Zhermany to live,
And leaves poor Schnapps behind; and leaves poor Schnapps behind.

I march all tay, no matter if der schtorm pe worse ash Moses' flood;
I lays all night, mein head upon a schtump and “sinks to schlep” in der
Der nightmare comes, I catch him ferry pad, I treams I schleeps mit der
I wakes next morning frozen in der cround so schtiff as von schtone post.

They kives me hart-pred, tougher as a rock; it almost preaks mine zhaw;
I schplits him sometimes mit an iron wedge and cuts him up mit a saw.
Dey kives me peef, so ferry ferry salt like Sodom's vife, you know;
I surely tinks dey put him in der prine von hundred years aco.

Py'n py we takes von city in der South, ve schtays there von whole year,
I kits me sourkraut, much as I can eat, and blenty lager bier.
I meets von lady repel in der schtreet so handsome effer I see;
I makes to her von ferry callant pow - Put ah! she schpits on me.

"Hart times!" you say, "What for you folunteer?" I tolt you, friends, what for:
Mein schweetheart, von coot patriotic kirl, she trove me off mit der war.
Alas! alas! Mein bretty little von vill schmile no more on me
Put schtill I fights der pattles of te flag to set mein countries free.

The Cruel War Is Raging

The cruel war is raging,
Johnny has to fight.
I long to be with him
From morning 'till night.
I want to be with him,
It grieves my heart so,
Won't you let me come with you?
No, my love, no.

Tomorrow is Sunday,
Monday is the day
That your captain will call 
You and you must obey
Your captain will call you,
 It grieves my heart so
Won't you let me come with you?
No, my love, no.

I'll tie back my hair,
Men's clothing I'll put on.

I'll pass for your comrade
As we march along.
I'll pass for your comrade,
No one will ever know
Won't you let me come with you?
No, my love, no.

Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, I feel you are unkind
I love you far better
Than all of mankind
I love you far better
Than words can e'er express
Won't you let me come with you?
Yes, my love, yes.

They marched into battle,
She never left his side
'Til a bullet shell struck her
And love was denied
A bullet shell struck her,
Tears came to Johnny's eyes
As he knelt down beside her,
She silently died.

cum along john, the piper's son

All de wa' from ole Karlina,
For to see my old ant Dinah,
Says I, "Ole lady, how's de Goose,"
Jay bird jump on de Martin's rooze.

Den cum along John, oh, cum along John'
Den cum all along John, de piper's son,
Ain't you mity glad your works most done.

Behine de hen hous' on my knee,
T'inks I hear de chicken sneeze,
Turkey plaughin' hard on de punkin' vine,
Goose chaw backer and duck drink wine.

Milk in de dary nine days old,
Rat an' skipper gitin' mity bole,
Long tail rat in a pail ob souse,
Jes cum down from de wite fokes house.

A Wurginny nigger raised a hog,
Mak' his kanue out ob de log,
He put kanue into de water,
Go your deff, I see your darter.

I hadn't seen her ha'f a day,
Tell my missus I did say,
Shy at first, but soon got larkin',
Wurginny galls am deff at sparkin'.

Massa sent me out a singin',
Dat war de fust of my beginnin',
Shake de double tambo, wimmen quiber,
Bust de banjo all to shibber.

Way down souf on de Beever Kreek,
De nigga grows 'bout ten feet,
Dey go to bed wid al dar clothes on,

Dere legs hang out for chicken to roost on.

Nigga get up about ha'f ded,
Wid a hundred weight chicken on him leg,
An dey start off for de barn,
Ole cock crows, de young wuns larn.


Lay down boys, and take a little nap;
Lay down, boys, and take a little nap.
Lay down, boys, and take a little nap;
Fourteen miles to the Cumberland Gap.

Cumberland Gap, Cumberland Gap;
Way down yonder in Cumberland Gap!
Cumberland Gap, Cumberland Gap;
Way down yonder in Cumberland Gap!

Me an' my wife and my wife's pap,
We all live down in Cumberland Gap.
Cumberland gals are getting so grand
Won't go to meeting with an honest man.

Cumberland Gap is a noted place,
Three kinds of water to wash your face.
Cumberland Gap with its cliff and rocks -
Home of panther, bear and fox.

The first white man in Cumberland Gap
Was old Doc Walker, an English chap.
Daniel Boone on Pinnacle Rock,
He killed Injuns with his old flintlock.

September morning in '62,
Morgan's Yankees all withdrew.
They spiked Long Tom on the mountaintop,
And over the cliffs they let him drop.

They burned the hay, the meal, and the meat,
And left the Rebels nothing to eat.
Braxton Bragg with his Rebel band,
He run George Morgan to the blue-grass land.

The Rebels now will give a little yell -
They'll scare them Yankees all to Hell.
Lay down, boys, and take a little nap,
Fourteen miles to the Cumberland Gap.

Old Aunt Dinah, if you don't keer,
Leave my little jug a-settin' right hyeer.
If it's not here when I come back,
I'll raise hell in Cumberland Gap.

Old Aunt Dinah took a little spell,
Broke my little jug all to hell.
S'pose she took more'n just a swig
'Cause the spill ain't all that big.

I've got a woman in Cumberland Gap,
She's got a boy that calls me "pap."
Me an' my wife and my wife's pap,
We all raise hell in Cumberland Gap.

The earliest written record of the gap is credited to Dr. Thomas Walker, a Virginia physician - turned - explorer who traveled through the region in 1750 and noted "Cave Gap," named after a nearby cavern. Walker also named the river north of the pass "Cumberland" in honor of the Duke of Cumberland, son of Britain's King George II. The duke was popular because of his victory over the Scots at Culloden. Eventually the name was transferred to the pass as well.

Twenty five years after Walker passed through, Richard Henderson, a land speculator and former North Carolina judge, sent Boone and his woodsmen to mark a trail through the gap for eastern settlers bound for Kentucky. Boone was already familiar with the area, having passed through the gap on hunting expeditions to Kentucky. He was also aware of the area's dangers, especially from Indians who wanted to keep whites away form their lands.

Before the Revolutionary War over 12,000 people crossed into the new frontier territory. By the time of Kentucky's admission to the Union, over 100,000 people had passed through the Gap. By 1800 the Gap was being used for transportation and commerce, both east and west. In the 1830's, other routes west caused the Gap to decline in importance.

During the Civil War the Gap was called the Keystone of the Confederacy and the Gibraltar of America. Both armies felt the invasion of the North or South would come through the Gap. Both armies held and fortified the Gap against the invasion that never came. Quoting O. G. Swingburg, 125th Ohio U. S. on September 9, 1863,

"The trees, which had formerly covered the mountains, were all cut down. Their trunks lie tangled and scattered in all directions to prevent rapid charges of infantry. Surely, a valley of death could not have been more skillfully constructed. All who walked that road today would agree that had the charge been made, it would have been the last road walked in eternity. It would have been murder to have ordered that assault."

The Gap exchanged hands four times to be finally abandoned in 1866 by the Federal Army.

The question of "Long Tom" has been a matter of interest to local folks and historians since the War. A few facts concerning the gun are known: that it was almost 18' long and that it had a fair degree of accuracy at up to five miles seem to be "givens". Beyond that, almost everything else is in dispute.

While some contend that "Long Tom" was a 32-pounder smoothbore that had been re-bored and rifled to give it a 64-pound projectile capacity, others contend that it was a 65-pounder seacoast gun. All that can be readily agreed upon is that it was sufficiently large to cause consternation and introduce fear and trembling to those at whom its fire was directed.

Confederate artillerymen first hauled "Long Tom" to the top of Cumberland Mountain in 1861. However, there was no significant action to put "Long Tom" to the test. When the Confederate forces abandoned Cumberland Mountain in 1862, rather than trying to haul the monster down the mountain, they pushed him off the cliff.

Federal General George Morgan ordered his men to haul up "Long Tom" in order to give the Confederates a chance to fear him. After all of the time and effort expended in bringing "Long Tom" back up the mountain, though, the Federal artillery realized that they had no ammunition suitable for the massive piece. "Long Tom" sat idle until Morgan's troops evacuated the position in 1862. They then spiked "Long Tom" and, as the Confederates before them, pushed "Long Tom" off the edge.

As is true with identifying the size of cannon that "Long Tom" was, so is the question open on where "Long Tom" is today. One group believes that "Long Tom" drove itself into the ground, muzzle first, and is unlikely ever to be found, much less excavated. Another school of thought believes that "Long Tom" was rescued after the war, and was taken to Newlee's Iron Furnace in the town of Cumberland Gap, Tennessee. Local legend has it that "Long Tom" was used as a horse hitching post for horses, and was later taken to Chattanooga where it was melted down. And, of course, there is yet another group that contends that old "Long Tom" is out there, just waiting to be found.