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lee's songbook



My Massa had a colored gal - he brought her from the South,
Her hair it curled so very tight; she could not shut her mouth.
Her eyes they were so very small, they both ran into one,
And when a fly lit in her eye, 'twas like a June-bug in the sun.

Ha, ha, ha, yah, yah, yah, the gal from the South;
Her hair it curled so very tight, she could not shut her mouth.

Her nose, it was so very long, it turned up like a squash,
And when she got her dander up, she made me laugh, by gosh!
Old Massa had no hooks or nails, or nothing else like that,
So on this darkie's nose he used to hang his coat and hat.

One morning Massa going away, he went to get his coat,
But neither hat nor coat was there, for she had swallowed both.
He took her to a tailor shop to have her mouth made small;
The lady took in one long breath, and swallowed tailor and all!

Andrews Printer, 38 Chatham St.


My darling Jane, I'd have you know, is the beauty of the city, oh,
She doesn't dress so very fine, but she's the darling of the cabbage line.

For my old Mammy told me, oh,
I was the best-looking gal in the city, oh;
I looked in her face, I found it so,
Just as my Mammy told me, oh!

Every morning early, oh, you'll find her in the market, oh,
The cabbages she sells are fine, for she is a bully in the cabbage line.

I loved her for her virtues, oh, I'd married her but for Butcher Joe;
But Butcher Joe, he beat my time, he stole this gal in the cabbage line.

To Joe a challenge I did write; he said he'd show me a fistfight.
He'd bung my eye up so prime to avenge this gal in the cabbage line.

At the back of Moyamensing prison we met - he took me by the wizen;
His second said I couldn't shine - 'twas this female in the cabbage line.

The constables they grabbed us three, deprived us of our liberty;
They locked us up in no time; this comes of being in the cabbage line.

Now city boys a warning take, or you'll repent when it's too late;
In prison I am for no crime but for loving in the cabbage line.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher of songs & ballads--Toy-books, paper-dolls 60 CHATHAM St. N. Y.


Let Bacchus' sons be not dismayed, but join with me, each jovial blade;
Come booze and sing, and lend your aid, to help me with the chorus.

Instead of spa we'll drink down ale, and pay the reck'ning on the nail;
No man for debt shall go to jail from Garryowen in glory,
We are the boys that take delight in smashing the Liverick lights when lighting
Through the streets like sporters fighting and tearing all before us.

We'll break windows, we'll break doors, the watch knock down by threes and fours;
Then let the doctors work their cures, and tinker up our bruises.

We'll beat the bailiffs out of fun, we'll make the mayor and sheriffs run;
We are the boys no man dares dun, if he regards a whole skin.

Our hearts so stout have got us fame, for soon 'tis known from whence we came;
Where'er we go they dread the name of Garryowen in glory.

Garryowen was not a person - it was a place, the "Garden of Owen", near Limerick Ireland.. The park had a problem with delinquents, who vandelized the neighborhood, and a song about them was used as an Irish drinking song... The song was known by irish regiments. A certain longhaired blonde brevet general who graduated last in his class at west point liked the song, and used it as a marching song, until he was Siouxed.

Garry Owen is an old Irish folk song that was adopted by the 7th US Cavalry as its theme song in 1867. Of Course, Gen. Custer is the first Michigan Cavalryman who comes to mind and he was with the 7th Cavalry at Little Big Horn. I am assuming that this is what your Professor is talking about, but there was not a man named Garryowen who wrote it- Garry Owen actually means "Garden of Owen" and is a compund Gaelic word.

"Garry Owen" is an old Irish quick-step that can be traced back to the 1800s. it is known to have been used by Irish regiments as a drinking song. So the story goes, one of the Irish "melting pot" members of the 7th was singing the song under the influence of spirits, and Custer happened by, liked the cadence, and soon began to hum the tune himself. Garryowen is derived from Gaelic meaning Owen's garden, is a suburb of Limerick. The tune has a lively beat, that accentuates the cadence of marching horses, and for that reason was adopted as the regimental sing soon after Custer arrived to take over the 7th Cavalry. It was the last song played by the band for Custer's men as they left the Terry column at the Rosebud River and rode into history.

The tune is called "The Gary Owen" and that 'certain US cavalry general from Michigan was George Armstrong Custer who bought the farm big time just in time for the Centennial out at the Greasy Grass (a.k.a., Little Big Horn)

The actual connection of the song to the cavalry goes a ways back, to the days of Wellington. I don't know if the lyrics were the same, but the tune was a "cavalry" song dating back to the early 1800s. Most likely, with the cavalry's attraction to locals such as pubs and taverns, it was only natural for the horse soldiers to adopt a drinking song. Officer club lore says we will all enter heaven singing "Gary Owen" to differentiate the cavalry gentlemen from the infantry and artillery.

Miles Keogh, a wild Irishman from the Limerick area, is rumored to have introduced Custer to the tune at Ft. Riley. According to Indian eye witness accounts at Greasy Grass (there are several books published from that viewpoint) Miles Keogh was the last man to fall despite Hollywood's portrayal of Custer in movies.

Gay and Happy!
Words By Louis Winters

I'm the boy that's gay and happy, 
Where so e'er I chance to be;
And I'll do my best to please you, 
If you will but list to me.

So let the world wag as it will, 
I'll be gay and happy still;
Gay and happy, gay and happy, 
I'll be gay and happy still.

I envy neither great nor wealthy, 
Poverty I ne'er despise;
Let me be content and healthy, 
And the boon I'll greatly prize.

The rich have cares we little know of, 
All that glitters is not gold;
Merit's seldom made a show of, 
And the true worth's rarely told.

If the president should sit beside me, 
I'd sing my song with usual glee;
Fools may laugh and knaves deride me, 
Still I'd gay and happy be.

I care for all yet care for no man, 
Those that do well need not fear;
I like a man and love a woman, 
What else makes this life so dear?

Published By Henry McCaffery
Baltimore, Maryland

General Johnston

To the tune of AMERICAN STAR

Behold the brave son
Of the good "Old Dominion," 
The glorious Johnston, 
The bold and the free, 
Now fighting for freedom, 
Now battling with tyrants, 
The Yankees for niggers, 
But Johnson for me. 

He raced them from Bull Run
To Washington City,
A horde of old villains
And vandals to boot,
He chased the vile varmint
Far over rail fences,
No rest is now left
For the sole of their foot.

Here's a health to the fine
Old brave Mississippians,
Likewise to the band
Of old Maryland Boys,
Who faced the vile horde
With the point of the bayonet,
And cut them to pieces
Without any noise.

The wretched old creatures
That brought on this bloodshed,
At Johnson's brave eye
Will creep into their holes,
They caused this rash war,
But they keep away from it,
Horace Greeley and Beecher
And other black souls.

Huzza! for dear Johnston,
The pride of all freemen,
The strength of the needy,
The friend of the right,
When long-legged Yankees
Invade our Dominion,
Brave Johnston will meet them
And teach them to fight.

Portrait of Jenny Lind
"The Swedish Nightingale"

Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster

Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie,
Like a flower thy spirit did depart;
Thou art gone, alas, like the many
That have bloomed in the summer of my heart.

Shall we never more behold thee,
Never hear thy winning voice again?
When the springtime comes, gentle Annie,
When the wild flowers are scattered o'er the plain?

We have roamed and loved mid the bowers,
When thy downy cheeks were in bloom;
Now I stand alone mid the flowers,
While they mingle their perfumes o'er thy tomb.

Ah, the hours grow sad while I ponder,
Near the silent spot where thou art laid;
And my heart bows down when I wander,
By the streams and meadows where we stray'd.

"Gentle Annie" was among the favorite songs of Stephen Foster and his family and was fondly remembered in a letter from Stephen's brother Henry to his sister Ann shortly after Stephen's death. Stephen Foster's grand nephew, Richard K. Foster, recently recounted how the song captured the hearts of the Foster family "when Uncle Stephen wrote the songs shortly after the loss of a dear family friend-Annie." It was also among Abraham Lincoln's favorite sentimental songs.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, Songs, ballads, toy books, &c., 54 Chatham Street, N. Y. The Music of this Beautiful Song can be obtained at the Music store of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y.

the georgian slave ballad
Composed by S. Glover
To Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe

I had a dream a happy dream,
 I thought that I was free; 
That in my own bright land again 
A home there was for me: 
Savannah's tide dash'd bravely on, 
I saw wave roll o'er wave; 
But in my full delight I woke, 
And I was still a slave;
I dreamt but in my full delight 
I woke and I was still a slave.

I never knew a mother's love,
Yet happy were my days;
For by my own dear father's side,
I sang my simple lays;
He died, and heartless strangers came,
Ere clos'd o'er him the grave,
They tore me weeping from his side,
And claim'd me as their slave;
They tore me weeping from his side,
And claim'd me as their slave.

THE GEORGIAN SLAVE BALLAD is founded in fact.  Pheobe Morel was the daughter of a wealthy planter in Georgia who had imprudently contracted marriage with a beautiful Creole woman, a slave on the estate of his father.  Pheobe's mother died during Pheobe's infancy, and her father had Phoebe educated and attended with the most affectionate solicitude.  However, he had omitted to execute the necessary forms for her manumission.  The consequence of his neglect was that, immediately after his death, his legal representatives claimed Pheobe as a portion of their property.  She did not long survive the iniquity, for within a few months of her father's death her lifeless body was found floating down the dark waters of the Savannah.

Get Off The Track

Negro Song

See the people run to meet us,
At the depots thousands greets us,
All take seats with exultation
In the car Emancipation.

Huzza! Huzza!
Huzza! Huzza!
Huzza! Huzza!
Soon will bless our happy nation.
Huzza! Huzza!

Huzza! Huzza!
Huzza! Huzza!
Soon will bless our happy nation.

the ghost of uncle tom
Composed by Miss Martha Hill

De Fader ob de waters,
Rolls His deep and muddy tide,
By de grassy grave where Eva sleeps,
De people say she died,
Truth crush'd to the earth will rise again,
So Massa Bryant said,
And Eva's only sleeping,
Tho' de people say she's dead.

Knock! Knock! Knock!
When de hour ob midnight come -
Oh who is dat a knocking?
'Tis the Ghost of "Uncle Tom."

Oh! de nigger's only made to work,
De Suddern people say;
And de nigger's berry willing,
But He wants to hab his pay;
So he swims across de ribber,
And he flies across de plain; 
But de Northern people catch him,
And de ribbit on his chains! 

Oh! one ob dese times
Dere will come a solemn day,
When de sheep will go together,
And de goats together stay,
Der'l be many brack sheep,
And many white goats;
So dey better "pluck de beams out"
Before dey pluck de motes.

Oh! dere is a railroad "underground"
On which de nigger slopes,
And when he's got his ticket,
Den his bosom's full of hope:
De Engine never whistles
And de Cars dey make no noise,
But dey carry off de nigger
And his wife and little boys.

De Parson in de pulpit,
And de Merchant in de Store,
De Statesman in de Cabinet,
De Speaker on de Floor,
Dey talk de subject ober,
And dey make it berry plain,
But when dey go to bed at night,
Dey want it fix'd again.

But bye and bye de people
Deir errors dey will see;
Dey'l beat de chains to plough shares,
And dey'l hold a jubilee;
And de mother will be happy
When she gaze upon her boy,
And de "Fader ob de Waters,
He will roll along in joy."


Gideon's Band
Words and Music: Anonymous
Arranged by Charles R. Dodsworth
Sung in the Musical Extravaganza of "Mazeppa"

Oh, keep your hat upon your head,
Oh, keep your hat upon your head,
Oh, keep your hat upon your head,
For you will want it when you're dead.

If you belong to Gideon's band,
Oh, here's my heart and here's my hand,
If you belong to Gideon's band,
We're hunting for a home.

Oh, keep your nose upon your face,
Oh, keep your nose upon your face,
Oh, keep your nose upon your face,
For anywhere else is out of place.

Oh, keep your coat upon your back,
Oh, keep your coat upon your back,
Oh, keep your coat upon your back,
That you may be off on the other track.

Oh, keep your pants upon your legs,
Oh, keep your pants upon your legs,
Oh, keep your pants upon your legs,
That you may hang 'em on the golden pegs.

Oh, keep your shoes upon your feet,
Oh, keep your shoes upon your feet,
Oh, keep your shoes upon your feet,
That you may walk in the golden street.

Oh, stick your toe-nails in the ground,
Oh, stick your toe-nails in the ground,
Oh, stick your toe-nails in the ground,
That when you're wanted you may be found.

Oh, keep your money in your pocket,
Oh, keep your money in your pocket,
Oh, keep your money in your pocket,
So when it's wanted you've not forgot it.

'Twixt you and I, I really think,
'Twixt you and I, I really think,
'Twixt you and I, I really think,
It's pretty near time to take a drink.


I'm lonesome since I cross'd the hill
And o'er the moor and valley;
Such heavy thoughts my mind do fill
Since parting with my Sally.
I ask no more the fine or gay
For each but does remind me
How swift the hours did pass away
With the girl I've left behind me

Oh, ne'er shall I forget the night
The stars were bright above me,
And gently lent their silv'ry light
When first she vow'd to love me.
But now I'm bound to Brighton Camp,
Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me,
And send me safely back again
To the girl I've left behind me.

Had I the art to sing her praise
With all the skill of Homer,
The only theme should fill my lays -
The charms of my true lover.
So let the night be e'er so dark,
Or e'er so wet and windy,
Kind Heaven, send me back again
To the girl I've left behind me.

Her golden hair in ringlets fair,
Her eyes like diamonds shining;
Her slender waist, with carriage chaste,
May leave the swan repining.
Ye gods above! oh, hear my prayer
To my beauteous fair to bind me,
And send me safely back again
To the girl I've left behind me.

The hours I remember well,
When next to see doth move me,
The burning flames my heart doth feel,
Since first she owned she loved me.
In search of someone fair and gay,
Several doth remind me;
I know my darling loves me well
Though I left her behind me.

The bee shall honey taste no more,
The dove become a ranger;
The falling waves may cease to roar,
E'er I shall seek to change her.
The vows we register'd above
Shall ever cheer and bind me;
In constancy to her I love -
The girl I've left behind me.

Each mutual promise faithfully made
By her whom tears doth blind me,
And bless the hours I pass away,
With the girl I left behind me.
My mind her image full retains,
Wether asleep or awaken'd;
I hope to see my jewel again
For her my heart is breaking.

She says, "My love, come home to me;
My friends are rich and many;
Or else abroad with you I'll roam,
A soldier stout as any.
If you'll not come or let me go,
I'll think you have resigned me."
It broke my heart to answer, "No"
To the girl I left behind me.

For never shall my true love brave
A life of war and toiling,
And never as a skulking slave
I'll tread my native soil on.
But someday I'll return again
If the rebels, they don't find me;
And never will I roam again
From the girl I left behind me.

Give Me Jesus

Slave Song

In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus;
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus.

Melody at:



Words By S.W. Harding
Music By Stephen Collins Foster

Take, I pray thee, this small locket, brother soldier, ere I die;
Life is flick'ring in its socket, and my spirit soon will fly!
I am dying, comrade dying, far from home and her I love;
Death with life is strongly viewing; and I soon will be above.

Take this locket, soldier, brother; don't forget - give this to mother.

Comrade hear those angels singing; see beyond the brilliant light;
Hear yon joy-bells sweetly ringing, shade my vision from God's sight!
Death has come, my eyes grow dimmer; let me, comrade, touch your hand
Ere the stars of ev'ning glimmer, I will find a fairer land.

Give Us One Chance, 'Tis All We Ask

Give us one chance, t' is all we ask,
Be retribution then our task;
We've suffered much and waited long,
Too weak t' oppose the mighty throng
Which rushed, at the despot's mandate forth,
From every thieves' den in the North.

Give half a chance, 'tis all we crave,
Though fettered, we have some still brave.
Who're waiting, armed with steady heart,
Ready, at the signal, up to start,

To drive the vile invader forth!
Or else to perish by the North. 

By Davis' blood, Howard's fame,
By Elzey's valor, Hick's shame,
Assistance swift from you we claim,
We claim it in our Old Lines name,
Who homes and all have laid aside,
To help the South what'er betide. 

"Sons of the Palmetto," we call upon you,
We call upon Georgia, the gallant and true,
Virginia, our mother, we call upon thee,
And the lone star of Texas, and brave Tennessee,
State of the Pelican, State of the Pine,
Quickly to rescue your proud hosts combine! 

Mississippi, Arkansas, we know will be true,
And brave Alabama, we county upon you,
Then there's Florida too, ever ready at need,
Must ne'er leave the field until Maryland's freed,
We've panted long, tho' hoping still,
We lack the power, not the will. 

Kentucky, Missouri we'd call for your aid
But you both were like Maryland basely betrayed;
We're ready and willing to battle for right,
To conquer or die in the South's holy fight,
Then give but a chance, t'is all we ask,
Let retribution be our task! 


Words & Music By Stephen Collins Foster

De Glendy Burk is a mighty fast boat, wid a mighty fast captain too;
He sits up dah on de hurricane roof and he keeps his eye on de crew.
I can't stay here, for dey work too hard; I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back when de Glendy Burk comes down.

Ho! for Lou'siana! I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back when de Glendy Burk comes down.

De Glendy Burk has a funny old crew and dey sing "De Boatman's Song";
Dey burn de pitch and de pine knot, too, for to shove de boat along.
De smoke goes up and de ingine roars and de wheel goes round and round,
So fare you well! for I'll take a little ride when de Glendy Burk comes down.

I'll work all night in de wind and storm, I'll work all day in de rain,
Till I find myself on de levy-dock in New Orleans again.
Dey make me mow in de hay field here and knock my head wid de flail;
I'll go wha dey work wid de sugar and de cane and roll on the cotton bale.

My lady love is as pretty as a pink - I'll meet her on de way;
I'll take her back to de sunny old South and dah I'll make her stay.
So don't you fret, my honey dear, Oh! don't you fret, Miss Brown!
I'll take you back 'fore de middle of de week when de Glendy Burk comes down.

Glorious Things Of Thee Are Spoken

Zion, or The City Of God)

Negro Spiritual

Go down, Moses, 'way down in Egypt land,
Tell old Pharaoh, "Let my people go!"

When Israel was in Egypt land -
Let my people go!
Oppressed so hard they could not stand -
Let my people go!

Thus saith the Lord, bold Moses said -
Let my people go!
If not, I'll smite your first born dead -
Let my people go!

No more shall they in bondage toil -
Let my people go!
Let them come out with Egypt's spoil -
Let my people go!

The Lord told Moses what to do -
Let my people go!
To lead the Hebrew children through -
Let my people go!

Oh, Moses, the clouds shall cleave the way -
Let my people go!
A fire by night, a shade by day -
Let my people go!

O come along Moses, you'll not get lost -
Let my people go!
Stretch out your rod and come across -
Let my people go!

As Israel stood by the waterside -
Let my people go!
At God's command it did divide -
Let my people go!

When they reached the other shore -
Let my people go!
They sang a song of triumph o'er -
Let my people go!

Pharaoh said he'd go across -
Let my people go!
But Pharaoh and his host were lost -
Let my people go!

Jordan shall stand up like a wall -
Let my people go!
And the walls of Jericho shall fall -
Let my people go!

Your foes shall not before you stand -
Let my people go!
You'll possess Cannan's land -
Let my people go!

O let us all from bondage flee -
Let my people go!
And let us all in Christ be free -
Let my people go!

We need not always weep and mourn -
Let my people go!
And wear these slavery chains forlorn -
Let my people go.!

This song was a favorite among black troops during the Civil War.  It was known as "The Song of the Contrabands."

Words By Gerhard Tersteegen, 1729 
Translated from German to English 
By Frederick W. Foster & John Miller
Music By Joachim Neander, 1680

God Himself is with us: let us now adore Him,
And with awe appear before Him.
God is in His temple, all within keep silence,
Prostrate lie with deepest reverence.
Him alone God we own, Him our God and Savior;
Praise His Name forever.

God Himself is with us: Hear the harps resounding!
See the crowds the throne surrounding!
"Holy, holy, holy," hear the hymn ascending,
Angels, saints, their voices blending!
Bow Thine ear to us here: Hear, O Christ, the praises
That Thy church now raises.

O Thou fount of blessing, purify my spirit;
Trusting only in Thy merit,
Like the holy angels who behold Thy glory,
May I ceaselessly adore Thee,
And in all, great and small, seek to do most nearly

What Thou lovest dearly.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way
Conflict: Light shining
out of darkness

Words By William Cowper
Music: "Dundee,"  From the SCOTTISH PSALTER, 1615 

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

It is reportedly the last hymn Cowper ever wrote, with a fascinating (though unsubstantiated) story behind it.

Cowper often struggled with depression and doubt. One night he decided to commit suicide by drowning himself. He called a cab and told the driver to take him to the Thames River. However, thick fog came down and prevented them from finding the river (another version of the story has the driver getting lost deliberately). After driving around lost for a while, the cabby finally stopped and let Cowper out. To Cowper's surprise, he found himself on his own doorstep: God had sent the fog to prevent him from killing himself. Even in our blackest moments, God watches over us.

The God Of Abraham Praise

The God of Abraham praise,
Who reigns enthroned above;
Ancient of everlasting days
And God of love.
Jehovah! Great I AM!
By earth and heaven confessed;
I bow and bless the sacred name,
Forever blessed.

The God of Abraham praise,
At whose supreme command
From earth I rise, and seek
The joys at His right hand.
I all on earth forsake,

Its wisdom, fame, and power,
And Him my only portion make,
My shield and tower.

He by Himself hath sworn,
I on His oath depend;
I shall, on eagles' wings upborne,
To heaven ascend.
I shall behold His face,
I shall His power adore,
And sing the wonders of His grace

The goodly land I see,
With peace and plenty blessed,
A land of sacred liberty
And endless rest.
There milk and honey flow,

And oil and wine abound,
And trees of life forever grow,
With mercy crowned.

There dwells the Lord our King,
The Lord our Righteousness,
Triumphant o'er the world and sin,
The Prince of Peace.
On Zion's sacred height
His kingdom He maintains,
And glorious with His saints
In light forever reigns.

The whole triumphant host
Gives thanks to God on high;
"Hail, Father, Son and Holy Ghost!"
They ever cry.
Hail Abraham's God and mine!

I join the heavenly lays;
All might and majesty are Thine,
And endless praise.

God Save The South
Words by Earnest Halpin

God save the South, God save the South,
Her altars and firesides, God save the South!
Now that the war is nigh, now that we arm to die,
Chanting our battle cry, "Freedom or death!"
Chanting our battle cry, "Freedom or death!"

God be our shield, at home or afield,
Stretch Thine arm over us, strengthen and save.
What tho' they're three to one, forward each sire and son,
Strike till the war is won, strike to the grave!
Strike till the war is won, strike to the grave!

God made the right stronger than might,
Millions would trample us down in their pride.
Lay Thou their legions low, roll back the ruthless foe,
Let the proud spoiler know God's on our side.
Let the proud spoiler know God's on our side.

Hark honor's call, summoning all.
Summoning all of us unto the strife.
Sons of the South, awake! Strike till the brand shall break,
Strike for dear Honor's sake, Freedom and Life!
Strike for dear Honor's sake, Freedom and Life!

Rebels before, our fathers of yore.
Rebel's the righteous name Washington bore.
Why, then, be ours the same, the name that he snatched from shame,
Making it first in fame, foremost in war.
Making it first in fame, foremost in war.

War to the hilt, theirs be the guilt,
Who fetter the free man to ransom the slave.
Up then, and undismay'd, sheathe not the battle blade,
Till the last foe is laid low in the grave!
Till the last foe is laid low in the grave!

God save the South, God save the South,
Dry the dim eyes that now follow our path.
Still let the light feet rove safe through the orange grove,
Still keep the land we love safe from Thy wrath.
Still keep the land we love safe from Thy wrath.

God save the South, God save the South,
Her altars and firesides, God save the South!
For the great war is nigh, and we will win or die,
Chanting our battle cry, "Freedom or death!"


I'm goin' back to Dixie, no more I'm gwine to wander;
I'm goin' back to Dixie, can't stay here no longer.
I miss the old plantation, my home and my relations;
My heart turns back to Dixie, and I must go.

I'm goin' back to Dixie, I'm goin' back to Dixie,
I'm goin' where the orange blossoms grow;
I hear the children callin', I see the sad tears fallin',
My heart turns back to Dixie, and I must go.

I've hoed in fields of cotton, I've worked upon the river;
I used to think if I'd get off, I'd never go back - no, never.
But time's changed the old man, his head is bending low,
His heart turns back to Dixie, and I must go.

I miss my hog and hominy, my punkin' and red gravy,
My appetite is fadin', so says ole Uncle Davey.
If my friends forsake me, I pray the Lord will take me -
My heart turns back to Dixie, and I must go.


Go tell Aunt Rhody, go tell Aunt Rhody;
Go Tell Aunt Rhody the old grey goose is dead.

The one that she's been savin', the one that she's been savin';
The one that she's been savin' to make a feather bed.

She died in the millpond, she died in the millpond;
She died in the millpond a-standin' on her head.

The goslins are cryin', the goslins are cryin';
The goslins are cryin' because their mammy's dead.

The gander is weepin', the gander is weepin';
The gander is weepin' because his wife is dead.



Words By A. PINDAR
Music By P. NUTT

Sitting by the roadside on a summer day,
Chatting with my messmates,
Passing time away,
Lying in the shadow underneath the trees -
Goodness! how delicious, eating Goober Peas!

Peas! peas! peas! peas!
Eating Goober Peas!
Goodness how delicious,
Eating Goober Peas!
Peas! peas! peas! peas!
Eating Goober Peas!
Goodness how delicious,
Eating Goober Peas!

When a horseman passes,
The soldiers have a rule
To cry out at their loudest,
"Mister, here's your mule!"
But another pleasure
Enchantinger than these
Is wearing out your grinders,
Eating Goober Peas!

Just before the battle
The Gen'ral hears a row;
He says, "The Yanks are coming,
I hear their rifles now."
He turns around in wonder,
And what do you think he sees?
The Georgia Militia -
Eating Goober Peas!

I think my song has lasted
Almost long enough;
The subject's interesting,
But rhymes are mighty rough.
I wish this war was over,
When free from rags and fleas,
We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts
And gobble Goober Peas!

Winter Evening
By Tim Hamwey


Words By Heinrich Suso
Translated from Latin to English by John Mason Neale
Music: "In Dulci Jubilo,"  14th Century German melody

Good Christian men, rejoice with heart and soul, and voice;
Give ye heed to what we say: News! News! Jesus Christ is born today;
Ox and ass before Him bow; and He is in the manger now.
Christ is born today! Christ is born today!

Good Christian men, rejoice, with heart and soul and voice;
Now ye hear of endless bliss: Joy! Joy! Jesus Christ was born for this!
He has opened the heavenly door, and man is blest forevermore.
Christ was born for this! Christ was born for this!

Good Christian men, rejoice, with heart and soul and voice;
Now ye need not fear the grave: Peace! Peace! Jesus Christ was born to save!
Calls you one and calls you all, to gain His everlasting hall.
Christ was born to save! Christ was born to save!


Words By John Mason Neale (1818-1866);
Music By "Tempus Adest Floridum"
By John Mason Neale and Thomas Helmore


Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me; if you know it, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me food and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither;
You and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither."
Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together,
Through the cold wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread now in them boldly,
You shall find the winter's rage freeze your blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.

Neale may have written the hymn some time earlier.  He related the story on which it is based in Deeds of Faith (1849). The historical Wenceslas was Duke of Bohemia.


The good old hut at home, where my father he first dwelt,
Where like a possom at de feet ob mother I once knelt;

Where she taught me to hoe, and de old banjo to play,
Which in infancy delighted me, and I think of to dis day.

My heart amid all changes, wherever I may roam,
Never can it lose its love for the old hut at home.

It was not for its ground floor the old hut was so dear;
'Twas not that Sambo or my Dinah always did come there,
But o'er the field the sugar cane and cotton plant entwin'd,
And the sweet scent of the 'bacca plant was waving in the wind.

But the good old hut at home is no dwelling now for me;
The home of other darkies henceforth it e'er must be,
And I oft look back upon it as to my work I go,
For the new Massa I'm toiling for with shovel and with hoe.

Andrews, Printer, No. 38 Chatham Street, N. Y.
Dealer in Songs. Games, Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c.

the good old union wagon
By S. Matthews
Corrected from the Original Song, called THE SECESSION WAGON
To the tune of WAIT FOR THE WAGON

Come all who love the Union, and join our Northern band;
We'll squash the Southern Rebels, and drive them from the land.
Stern justice is our motto, and providence our guide,
So jump in to the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.

Hurrah, for the Wagon, the good old Union Wagon;
Uncle Sam drives the Wagon, so we'll all take a ride.

The Union is our watchword - our rights we will maintain
The Union forever from Florida to Maine;
Father Abe is in the Whitehouse with Halleck by his side,
Brave Rosecrans and his army, they are the nation's pride.

Our Wagon's in good order, the running gear is sound;
'Tis fill'd with bone and muscle and well-guarded all around.
Then come ye Union people, we'll stand up side by side,
With our starry flag and banner, we'll all take a ride.

Our cause is just and holy, our men are brave and true;
And if they catch the traitors, they pepper them a few.
God bless our noble army; in it we'll all confide
So jump into the Wagon and we'll all take a ride.

Cincinnati : A.C. Peters & Bro., 1863


'Twas down in Alabama State, our little hut did stand;
A wife and little darkies eight composed our happy band.

Goodbye, Linda, Love! Oh, Linda, fare you well!
Massa says I'm getting old; this darkey he must sell!

I never will forget, my love, the hour when first we met:
Your voice was softer than the dove, your lips was sweeter yet.

I remember well that happy morn when Linda say she lub
This darkey shelling Massa's corn, and Linda in a tub!

I think with joy upon the day when Linda and I was one;
I feel like 'coon in summer day, a-basking in the sun.

We've watch'd our little nigger boys a-playing on the green;
A happier day of sweeter joys this nigger never seen.

A long farewell, my Linda, dear - our happiness is o'er;
Come, Linda, love, then dry your tear; you'll never see me more.

Composed for White's Serenaders. Jackson, Printer, 190 Houston Street

De Goot Lager Bier
To the tune of BOLD PRIVATEER

I'll sing to you a song, dat you all likes to hear,
It's about a drink dat sobers you, und makes you feel so queer;
It ish goot for de stomach, it ish goot for de head,
It ish goot to make a dinner, mit de sweitzercase und bread.

De nice lager bier, de goot lager bier,
Dere's nothing in dis vorld like de bully lager bier.

It ish goot for de husband, it ish goot for de frau,
It ish goot for her temper, when she vants to kick up a row;
It ish goot for de baby, ven it feels a little queer,
It ish goot for de belly grubs, is das goot lager bier.

It ish goot for politicians, when dey vant to catch a vote;
It keeps de lies from sticking in der throat;
It ish goot for de congressman, when they vant to fight a duel,
For dey cannot hit each other from a shackass or a mule.

It ish goot for de maiden, when dey get up de love sick,
For it cures de highsterics, till their face shine like a brick;
It ish goot for de fashion, for it saves the hoop skirts fine,
For when dey drink a barrel up, dey need no crinoline.

It ish goot for de breacher, when he preaches off de church roof
For he vill baptize you mit lager, till he finds you devil proof;
It ish bad for de doctor, for it wont make folks git sick,
It makes de pebles send his jalap to de beer vaults of old nick.

It ish goot for a feller ven he wants to have a spark,
For it tickles up his courage, till he comes up to the mark;
It ish goot for a gal, ven she vants to catch a feller,
It makes her just as cunning as a mice down in de cellar.

It ish goot for matrimony, for it makes a frau feel blest,
It brings de milk of human kindness und peace to her breast;
I've got a nice young wife, und a little baby dear,
It all come from drinking of de goot lager bier.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, 54 Chatham Street, New-York.


Henry Clay Work

Our Jimmy has gone for to live in a tent,
They have grafted him into the Army;
He finally puckered up courage and went
When they grafted him into the Army.
I told them the child was too young, alas!
At the captains forequarters, they said he would pass,
They'd train him up well in the Infantry class,
So they grafted him into the Army.

Oh, Jimmy, farewell! Your brothers fell
Way down in Alabammy;
I though they would spare a lone widder's heir,
But they grafted him into the Army.

Dressed up in his unicorn, dear little chap,
They have grafted him into the Army;
It seems but a day since he sot in my lap,
But they grafted him into the Army.
And these are the trousies he used to wear,
Them very same buttons, the patch and the tear;
But Uncle Sam gave him a bran' new pair
When they grafted him into the Army.

Now in my provisions I see him revealed,
They have grafted him into the Army;
A picket beside the contented field,
They have grafted him into the Army.
He looks kinder sickish -- begins to cry,
A big volunteer standing right in his eye!

Oh, what if the ducky should up and die,
Now they've grafted him into the Army.

Great Day

Negro Spiritual

Great day!
Great day, the righteous marching.
Great day.
God's going to build up Zion's walls,
Great day!
Great day, the righteous marching.
Great day.
God's going to build up Zion's walls.

Chariot rode on the mountain top
God's going to build up Zion's walls!
My God spoke and the chariot did stop,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!

This is the day of jubilee,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!
The Lord has set His people free,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!

We want no coward in our band,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!
We call for valiant hearted men,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!

Going to take my bre'stplate, sword and shield,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!
And march out boldly in the field,
God's going to build up Zion's walls!


To the tune of CAMPTOWN RACES
Which took place at Boston Corners
October 12th, 1853

Sullivan made a match to fight, Du da! du da!
With a man named Morrisay all so tight, Du da! du da! day!
Yet Morrisay feared him not a bit, Du da! du da!
But said he'd give him hit for hit, Du da! du da! day!

It was a great prizefight, two thousand was the prize;
So Yankee hit him on the head, and bunged up both his eyes.

The ring was made on even ground, Du da! du da!
And hundreds thronged it all around, Du da! du da! day!
"Time" was called to fight the match, Du da! du da!
The men both walked up to the scratch. Du da! du da! day!

Morrissey dealt some heavy blows, Du da! du da!
Which reached the Yankee's eyes and nose, Du da! du da! day!
Sullivan now began his tricks, Du da! du da!
By going down to escape the licks. Du da! du da! day!

The fourth round was the hardest fought, Du da! du da!
And both men numerous "Rippers" caught; Du da! du da! day!
But Sullivan let a stinger fly, Du da! du da!
Which hit poor Morrisey on the eye. Du da! du da! day!

The blood did now profusely flow, Du da! du da!
And the Yankee's friends did loudly crow, Du da! du da! day!
Morrisey caught him round the throat, Du da! du da!
And "bored" him fiercely on the rope. Du da! du da! day!

Morrisey slipped down on his knee, Du da! du da!
But this the Yankee did not see, Du da! du da! day!
And sent his fist in rather free, Du da! du da!
Which with the rules did not agree, Du da! du da! day!

Morrisey jumped up off his knee, Du da! du da!
And went straight to the referee, Du da! du da! day!
And said, "Did you the foul blow see?" Du da! du da!
"If so, you must decide for me!" Du da! du da! day!

The referee, thinking all was right, Du da! du da!
To Morrisey said, "You won the fight!" Du da! du da! day!
But the Yankee called with might and main, Du da! du da!
Upon his man to come back again. Du da! du da! day!

Green Fields
Words by John Newton, 1779
Music from The Missouri Hymnal, 1808 Edition

How tedious and tasteless the hours
When Jesus no longer I see!
Sweet prospects, sweet birds and sweet flow'rs
Have lost all their sweetness to me;
The midsummer sun shines but dim,
The fields in vain to look gay;
But when I am happy in Him,
December's as pleasant as May.

His name yields the sweetest perfume,
And sweeter than music His voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,
And makes all within me rejoice;
I should, were He always thus nigh,
Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal as happy as I,
My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding His face,
My all to His pleasures resigned,
No changes of season or place
Would make any change in my mind;
While bless'd with a sense of His love;
A palace a toy would appear,
And prisons would palaces prove,
If Jesus would dwell with me there.

Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine,
If Thou art my sun and my song,
Say, why do I languish and pine,
And why are my winters so long?
Oh, drive these dark clouds from my sky,
Thy soul cheering presence restore,
Or take me to Thee up on high,
Where winter and clouds are no more.


I once had a sweetheart but now I have none;
He's gone and he's left me to weep and to mourn.
He's gone and he's left me, for others to see,
But I'll soon find another, far better than he.

Green grows the laurel, soft falls the dew;
Sorry was I, love, parting from you;
But at our next meeting I hope you'll prove true,
And we'll join the green laurel and the violet so blue.

He passes my window both early and late
And the looks he gives at me would me my heart break;
The looks he gives at me a thousand would kill
Though he hates and detests me, I love that lad still.

I wrote him a letter in red rosy lines;
He wrote back an answer all twisted and twined,
Saying, "Keep your love-letters and I will keep mine;
You write to your love and I'll write to mine."

Now I oft' times do wonder why maidens love men,
And oft' times I wonder why young men love them;
But from my own knowledge I will have you to know
That the men are deceivers wherever they go.

"Green Grow the Laurels", an American song set to an Irish tune, was most popular among Texicans of the early through the late 19th century.  "Green Grow" was sung so often by American soldiers during the Mexican War that the Mexicans came to nickname the Americans after the song they heard so often: "Gringos," a nickname which is used to this day. 

American soldiers of that era thought of the "green" in this song as a symbol that  represented the Mexican flag - a flag which they expected to change to the "red, white and blue."

guide me, o thou great jehovah

Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land.
I am weak, but Thou art mighty;
Hold me with Thy powerful hand.
Bread of heaven, bread of heaven,
Feed me till I want no more;
Feed me till I want no more.

Open now the crystal fountain,
Where the living waters flow;
Let the river of salvation,
Follow all the desert through.
Strong Deliverer, strong Deliverer,
Be Thou still my Strength and Shield;
Be Thou still my Strength and Shield.

Lord, I trust Thy mighty power,
Wondrous are Thy works of old;
Thou deliverst Thine from thraldom,
Who for nought themselves had sold:
Thou didst conquer, Thou didst conquer,
Sin, and Satan and the grave,
Sin, and Satan and the grave.

When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside;
Death of death and hells destruction,
Land me safe on Canaan's side.
Songs of praises, songs of praises,
I will ever give to Thee;
I will ever give to Thee.

Musing on my habitation,
Musing on my heav'nly home,
Fills my soul with holy longings:
Come, my Jesus, quickly come;
Vanity is all I see; Lord,
I long to be with Thee!
Lord, I long to be with Thee!

Gumbo Chaff

On de Ohio bluff, in de state of Indiana,
Dara where I used to lib, chock up in de Habana:
Ebery mornin urly, massa gibe me liquor,
Take my net and paddle, and I put out de quicker;
An I jump in de kiff,
Den I row de rberidriff,
And I kotch as many turopin as we two niggers liff.

Wonce upon a driff log tink I see an alligator--
Scull my boat round, den I chuck em sweet pertator;
I hit him on de head, an I try fur to wix it,
Couldn't fool em bad, no how I could fix it:
So I up wid a brick,
An I fotch him such a lick,
An 'twas notin but a pine net pon a big stick.

Wen de sun gwan down, an my day's work ober,
Ole Gumbo Chaff tink he lib in clober:
I gwan aboard de boat, wid my old tamborena,
Dey shub de boat orf, an I gwan to Orlena.
An de coptain--ad-drotem,
O I neber shall furgottem--
For he put me on de Lebee dare, to roll a bale of cotton.

When I kotch a hole in a bale den yew ort to seen us,
Furst time dis child gin to show his genus;
I grab hole a bale, an I gub em sich a hug,
An I lite upon em like a hawk upon a June bug.
Den de genus gin to peep,
Which bin long time ar sleep,
So dey sent me to Kalypoose dat for to keep.

Jist at daybreak, wen de cock was a crowin,
Ole missus tought me in de field a mowin;
I took de gray horse without any saddle,
An lumber'd o'er de feelds like a steem bote paddle.
And we travell'd both alone
Till de nigte was kummin on,
So I slept in a bee gum till de next morn.

I turn'd my hed round an saw de white man a kummin,
Close upon my heels, dar was no time for runnin--
I jump off my horse, trow my coat across my shoulder,
An keep jist as an old malicious soldier;
An he pass me like a bound,
An he sight all round,
An he took me for a mile-stone tickin in de ground.

He tie his old horse to de fence wid de bridle,
An he say, 'ole Chaff, I?n?gwan to hab you put in Bridellw.'
He lumber'd to de inn to get he mornin bitters,
I jump upon his horse, and say 'go you bully critter.'
An wen he cum back
He found, good lack!
Dat de horse had run away wid de mile-stone pon he back.

I jump aboard de boat O, early in de mornin,
An I lebe Orleans jist as de day was dawnin:
I hide under wood war de niggers jist hab toss em,
An lay like de coon wen he want to skare de possum.
An I keep so still,
Doe 'twas rader differkill,
An dey didn't find me out till I came to Louisvill

Jim beets de drum, an big Bill's de fifer,
But I'm de ting wot can reed, write an cifer.
Twice one is five, carry four to seben,
Twice six is twenty-nine, an eighteen 's a leben:
An between you an me,
It is berry plain to see,
I kan play de banjo by de double ob three,

I bid farewell to de wild goose nation,
Whar dey mak de nigger work pon de sugar plantation;
When he tired ob sweets he only look sour--
Dey fetch em ting, O ebery half hour,
An dat is de way
Wat dey sarve me night and day--
Dat's de bery reason makes me say wot I do say.

Ole massa build a barn for to put in all de fodder--
Dar was dis ting an dat ting, one ting on anoder;
One forty-ninth ob winter time, kum de rain ob water,
Which carry de ole barn much furder dan it oughter;
Den ole massa jump an swear,
An he rip an pull he hare,
To see de barn an fodder gwaing he dont care where.

Den my ole massa die on de lebenteen ob April,
So I put him in de troff we cotch de sugar maple:
I digd a big hole, rite upon de lebel,
An I verily believe that he gwoin to the debil.
For you all do know
He used to lite upon me so,
Now he got to tote de wood an de fire down below

Den my ole missus took an she marry Will de wever,
But little did she tink dat he was de gay deceiver:
He grabbed all her cash, and jinked in his pocket,
An de way he fool her bad was a sin to Davy Crockett
An he bid her good by,
Den my ole missus cry,
An he gwan foreber on to Fillermedelfy.

Sold wholesale and retail by LEONARD DEMING, No. 61 Hanover Street, and at Middlebury, Vt.