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Baptism In The Schuylkill River

Wade In De Water
Negro Spiritual

Wade in de water (Wade in de water),
Wade in de water (Wade in de water);
(Why don' you) Wade in de water (Wade in de water) -
God's gonna trouble de water.

If you don't believe I've been redeemed -
God's gonna trouble de water;
I want you to follow him on down to Jordan stream -
(I said) My God's gonna trouble de water.
You know chilly water is dark and cold -
(I know my) God's gonna trouble de water;
You know it chills my body but not my soul -
(I said my) God's gonna trouble de water.


(Come on, let's) Wade in de water (Wade in de water),
Wade in de water (Wade in de water);
Wade in de water (Wade in de water),
God's gonna trouble de water.

Now if you should get there before I do -
(I know) God's gonna trouble the water;
Tell all my friends that I'm comin' too -
(I know) God's gonna trouble the water.
Sometimes I'm up lord and sometimes I'm down -
(You know my) God's gonna trouble the water;
Sometimes I'm level to the ground -
God's gonna trouble the water.
(I Know) God's gonna trouble the water.


Wade in de water (Wade in de water),
Wade out in the water (Wade in de water);
Wade in de water (Wade in de water),
God's gonna trouble the water.


WAIT FOR THE LAGER

To the tune of WAIT FOR THE WAGON

Will you come with me, my Billy, into the cellar, near,
Where the music sounds the sweetest with a glass of Lager Beer.
It's every pleasant evening when I have got the chink;
We'll step into the cellar and have a social drink.

Chorus
Then here's to the Lager - here's to the Lager -
Wait for the Lager and we'll all have a drink.

Where the Lager runs like blazes, and the music is so sweet,
I'll order lots of liquor, and something nice to eat.
We'll listen to the singers - they'll make you laugh and wink -
So come into the cellar, and have a social drink.

You can't believe a moment that rum or gin, my dear,
Can make you half so merry as a glass of Lager Beer.
We'll have a glass of Lager, segars, and oysters, too,
And listen to the singers with their "Hop de doodle do."

Your cheeks are red as lobster, your nozzle blooms so sweet;
Your bristles smooth and shining, with candle grease so neat.
It's every pleasant evening when I have got the chink,
We'll step into the cellar and have a social drink.

Together when we're tipsy, we're spinning like a top,
An' if we have no tumble, we'll never have a stop.
Then come with me, my covey, for I have lots of chink;
We'll step into the cellar and all have a drink.

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

 



WAIT FOR THE WAGON

- PHYLLIS DEAR -

Will you come with me, my Phyllis, to yon blue mountain free,
Where the blossoms smell the sweetest? Come rove along with me!
It's ev'ry Sunday morning when I am by your side,
We'll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.

Chorus
Wait for the wagon, wait for the wagon,
Wait for the wagon and we'll all take a ride.

Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet,
I have a cabin, Phyllis, and something good to eat.
Come listen to my story - it will relieve my heart -
So jump into the wagon and off we will start.

Do you believe, my Phyllis, dear, Old Mike with all his wealth
Can make you half so happy as I with youth and health?
We'll have a little farm, a horse, a pig and cow,
And you will mind the dairy while I do guide the plough.

Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat,
All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet.
It's every Sunday morning when I am by your side,
We'll jump into the wagon and all take a ride.

Together on life's journey, we'll travel till we stop;
And if we have no trouble, we'll reach the happy top.
Then come with me, sweet Phyllis, my dear, my lovely bride;
We'll jump into the wagon and all take a ride.

W. S. & J. CROWLEY, BOOKSELLERS & STATIONERS, 146 Baltimore St.
 Wholesale Ag'ts for Balt. Retailers in the city or country will be supplied
By the dozen, hundred, or thousand, at the lowest cash prices.



WAIT FOR THE WAGON
Composed by Annie Irene Warren

The eagle of Columbia, in majesty and pride,
Shall soar aloft in glory though traitors have defied.
The flag we dearly cherish; the emblem of our will,
Baptized in blood of heroes, way down on Bunker Hill.

Chorus
Sam built the wagon, the Old Union Wagon,
The oft-tested wagon, to give the boys a ride.

The war screech of the eagle is heard from shore to shore,
For, with clouds of black rebellion, our sky is clouded o'er;
But Freedom and its sunlight will break the gloomy pall,
Or scorch the brow of treason with powder, shot and ball.

Chorus
Stick to the wagon, the Old Union Wagon,
The oft-tested wagon, to give the boys a ride.

King Cotton may be master to those who bend the knee,
But cannot rule a people who ever will be free;
As are the winds of heaven, whose every thought and deed
Shall emanate from justice, and not from cotton seed.

Chorus
Stick to the wagon, the Old Union Wagon,
The oft-tested wagon, to give the boys a ride.

Old Abe is in the wagon, and McClellan by his side;
Seward drives the horses to take a Union ride.
While Butler is not idle, and Cameron is true,
And we are in the wagon with Yankee Doodle Do.

Chorus
Shove on the wagon, the old Union Wagon,
God bless the wagon while patriots shall ride.

There's none can smash the wagon, it's patented and strong;
It's built of true devotion by those who hate the wrong.
Its wheels are made of freedom, while patriots adore
The spokes, when rightly counted, just number thirty-four.

Chorus
Keep in the wagon, the Old Union Wagon,
The oft-tested wagon, while millions take a ride.

Composed by ANNIE IRENE WARREN, and dedicated to Miss Clara Weilman.
As sung by Little ADA PAYNE, at the "Canterbury Hall," N. W. Cor. 5th and Chestnut.



Soldier's Quilt:
"Secession"


WAIT FOR THE WAGON

- THE DISSOLUTION WAGON -

Come all ye sons of freedom and join our Southern band;
We are going to fight the Yankees and drive them from our land.
Justice is our motto and Providence our guide;
So jump into the wagon and we'll all take a ride.

Chorus
So wait for the wagon! The dissolution wagon!
The South is the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.

Secession is our watchword - our rights we all demand;
To defend our homes and firesides, we pledge our hearts and hands.
Jeff Davis is our president, with Stephens by his side;
Brave Beauregard, our General, will join us in the ride.

Our wagon is the very best, the running gear is good;
Stuffed 'round the sides with cotton, and made of Southern wood.
Carolina is the driver, with Georgia by her side;
Virginia holds the flag up and we'll all take a ride.


WAKE NICODEMUS
Henry Clay Work
1864

Nicodemus the slave was of African birth,
And was bought for a bagful of gold;
He was reckoned as part of the salt of the earth,
But he died years ago, very old.
'Twas his last sad request - so we laid him away
In the trunk of an old hollow tree.
Wake me up! was his charge, at the first break of day;
Wake me up for the Great Jubilee!

Chorus
The Good Time Coming is almost here!
It was long - long - long on the way!
Now, go tell Elijah to hurry up, Pomp,
And meet us at the gum tree down in the swamp
To wake Nicodemus today.

He was known as a prophet - at least was as wise -
For he told of the battles to come;

And we trembled with dread when he roll'd up his eyes,
And we heeded the shake of his thumb.
Though he clothed us with fear, yet the garments he wore
Were in patches at elbow and knee;
And he still wears the suit that he wore long ago
As he sleeps in the old hollow tree.

Nicodemus was never the sport of the lash,
Though the bullet has oft cross'd his path;
There were none of his masters so brave or so rash
As to face such a man in his wrath.
Yet his great heart with kindness was filled to the brim -
He obeyed who was born to command;
But he long'd for the morning which then was so dim,
For the morning which now is at hand.

'Twas a long, weary night - we were almost in fear
That the future was more than he knew;
'Twas a long, weary night, but the morning is near,
And the words of our prophet are true.
There are signs in the sky that the darkness is gone;
There are wonders in endless array!
While the storm (which had seemingly banished the dawn)
Only hastens the advent of day.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher of Songs, ballads, toy books. &c. No. 60 Chatham Street, N.Y.


WAKE UP MOSE!

Oh! White folks, now I sing a song, although it's not so witty;
I'll tell you 'bout a colored chap dat's from de Empire City.
He used to run de railroad - he was de bulgine tender;
Oh golly! He's de debil when he gets on a bender!

Chorus
Wake up, Mose! Wake up Mose!
Wake up, Mose! de fire am burning;
'Round de corner de smoke am curling.
Wake up, Mose, de engine's coming;
Take de rope and keep a-running!

Mose he went to college - he said he was a poet,
And whilst he's young, he's bound to blaze, and says he means to go it.
He goes it wid a rush, my boys, no matter what befalls him -
He's de fust man to de engine house wheneber duty calls him.

Mose, he went to Mexico and dar he saw Santa Anna;
He sent a message to de camp, tellin' Zack not to surrender:
Says Santa Anna, "Who are you - you seem to be so witty?"
Says Mose, "Go 'long - I'm one ob de boys - I'm from de Empire City."

As sung, with great applause, by White and Christy's popular Bands of Minstrels.


WAS MY BROTHER IN THE BATTLE
Stephen Collins Foster
1862

Tell me, tell me, weary soldier,
From the rude and stirring wars,
Was my brother in the battle
Where you gained those noble scars?
He was ever brave and valiant,
And I know he never fled.
Was his name among the wounded,
Or numbered with the dead?
Was my brother in the battle
When the tide of war raged high?
You would know him in a thousand
By his dark and flashing eye.

Chorus
Tell me, tell me, wounded soldier,
Will he never come again?
Did he suffer 'mid the wounded,
Or die among the slain?

Was my brother in the battle
When the noble Highland host
Were so wrongfully outnumbered
On the Carolina coast?
Did he struggle for the Union
'Mid the thunder and the rain,
Till he fell, among the brave,
On a bleak Virginia plain?
Oh! I'm sure that he was dauntless,
And his courage ne'er would lag,
While contending for the honor
Of our dear and cherished Flag.

Was my brother in the battle
When the flag of Erin came
To the rescue of our Banner
And protection of our Fame?
While the fleet, from off the waters,
Poured out terror and dismay,
Till the bold and erring foe fell
Like leaves in Autumn days?
When the bugle called to battle,
And the cannon deeply roared,
Oh! I wish I could have seen him draw
His sharp and glittering sword!

Sold Wholesale and Retail. by WM. WALKER, No. 5 East Third Street.


THE WATER IS WIDE

The water is wide, I can't cross o'er;
And neither have I wings to fly.
Build me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row: my love and I.

Down in the meadows the other day
A-gath'ring flow'rs both fine and gay,
A-gath'ring flow'rs both red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.

I leaned my back up against an oak,
Thinking he was a trusty tree;
But first he bent, and then he broke -
And thus did my false love to me.

A man that climbs where nothing hangs,
And he who grips where nothing grows,
And he that loves an unkind maid,
Against the stream, I'm sure he rows.

Against the stream, love, I dare not go,
Because the stream it runs too strong.
I'm deadly feared I'm one of those
Who loved an unkind maid too long.

The grass does grow on every lea,
The leaf does fall from every tree,
How happy that small bird does cry
That her true love does by her lie.

A ship there is and she sails the sea;
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in -
And I know not how I sink or swim.

I cast my anchor in the sea,
And it sunk down into the sand.
So did my heart in my body,
When I took my false love by the hand.

I put my hand into a bush,
Thinking the sweetest flower there to find;
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the sweetest flower alone.

Oh, love is handsome and love is fine;
It's like a jewel when first it's new;
And love grows old and ever bold,
And shines as bright as the morning dew.

When my love's dead and at her rest,
I'll think on her whom I love best,
I'll wrap her in the linen strong,
And think on her when she's dead and gone.


WATERMELON ON THE VINE

See dat watermelon
Ripe and ready to pick?
I really wish dat watermelon was mine.
But de white folks here am foolish
While de nigger for a lot of sense,
Or dey wouldn't leave it a-hangin' on dat vine.

Chorus
Oh, de hambone am sweet and de chicken is good;
Rabbit is so bery, bery fine;
But give me, oh give me, oh how I wish dey would
Dat watermelon hangin' on dat vine

You talk about yo' apples
And yo' peaches and yo' pears,
'Simmons growin' on the tree;
But bless yo' heart, poor honey,
You am de gal fo' me,
Or dey wouldn't leave you a-hangin' on dat vine.

I went in to get dat 'melon
'Neath that ole moonlight,

'Cause he had done begin to shine;
And when I lef' dat old man's field,
I lef' dar on a run -
But I never lef' dat 'melon on de vine.

 


WAY DOWN IN CA-I-RO
Stephen Foster
1850

Oh, ladies don't you blush when I come out to play;
I only mean to please you all, and then I'se gwine away.

Chorus
I hear my true lub weep, I hear my true lub sigh;
Way down in Cairo, dis nigga's gwan to die.

Sometimes de nigga's life is sad, sometimes his life is gay;
When de work don't come too hard, he's singin' all de day.

Now we libs on de fat ob de land, now we libs on de lean;
When we hab no cake to bake, we sweep de kitchen clean.

Massa bought a bran' new coat and hung it on de wall,
Dis nigga's gwine to take dat coat and wear it to de ball.

All de ladies in de land, and all de gemmen, too,
Am gwine to hear de darkey band and see what dey can do.


WAY DOWN IN DIXIE
Words By "Jerry Blossom" Or "Young Dixie"
(William Shakespeare Hayes)
Music By "Dixie, Jr."
(Daniel Decatur Emmett)
1860

Oh, Dixie am de paradise
Whar dey raise de cotton and de rice;
Come away, boys; come away;
Come away, down in Dixie.
Whar de gals grow tall and de babies small,
And some folks dey don't grow at all;
Come away, boys; come away, boys;
Come away, boys down in Dixie!

Chorus
Then, come - let's go to Dixie - Yah! ho! yah ho!
We'll sing dis song de whole night long
When we go down in Dixie.
Away, away, we'll all be off for Dixie;
Away, away, we'll soon be off for Dixie.

Dar was a girl in Dixie's land -
I ax'd her for her head and hand;
Come away, boys; come away, boys;
Come away, boys down in Dixie.
Then she smiled an' gib me her consent;
I got de gal, away we went -
Come away, boys; come away, boys;
Come away, boys down in Dixie.

And when she went to bed one night,
She couldn't see for want of light -
Away! boys, away! away down in Dixie,

She lit de lite, as any one mout,
She put it in bed and blowed her sef out,
Away! boys, away! away down in Dixie.

De boy's down dar, dey live on chicken;
And de babies like 'lasses - dey want a lickin',
And away! boys, away! away down South in Dixie!
Dar face's am as broad as a farm in de Souf,
Like de Mississippi riber got snags in de Mouf,
Then away boys, away down South in Dixie.

Oh, come now boys, since you've heard our story -
To de land of light and glory
Come away, boys, away! away down south in Dixie,
O! our hearts am gay! we're a happy band,
Goodbye, folks! now for Dixie's land,
Away! boys, away! away down South in Dixie.

To Capt. J. B. O'Bannon, Tywopita, Ky.
As Sung by Hooley's Minstrels, Boston, MA: O.Ditson & Co.



THE WAYFARING STRANGER
1828

I'm just a poor, wayfaring stranger
A-travelin' through this world of woe,
But there's no sickness, toil or trouble
In that bright land to which I go.
I'm going there to see my mother,
I'm going there no more to roam;
I'm just a-going over Jordan,
I am just going to my home.

I know dark clouds will gather 'round me,
I know my way is rough and steep;
But golden fields lie out before me
Where the angels vigil keep.
I'm going there to see my father,
He said he'd meet me when I come;
I'm just a-going over Jordan,
I am just going to my home.

I'll soon be free from every trial,
My body rest beneath the sod;
I'll drop the cross of self-denial
And stand before the throne of God.
I'm going there to see my Savior,
To sing his praise forevermore;
I'm just a-going over Jordan,
I am just going to my home.

I want to wear a crown of glory, 
When I get home to that good land;
I want to shout Salvation's story, 
In concert with the blood-washed band.
I'm going there to meet my Saviour, 
He said he'd meet me when I come;
I'm just a-going over Jordan, 
I am just going to my home.

 


WE ARE CLIMBING JACOB'S LADDER
See JACOB'S LADDER


WE ARE COMING, FATHER ABR'AM
James Sloan Gibbons
Stephen Collins Foster
1862

We are coming, Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream
And from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops,
Our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance,
With but a silent tear.
We dare not look behind us,
But steadfastly before,
We are coming Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more.

Chorus
We are coming, we are coming,
Our Union to restore;
We are coming Father Abr'am,
With three hundred thousand more.
We are coming Father Abr'am,
With three hundred thousand more.

If you look across the hilltops
That meet the Northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust
Your vision may descry;
And now the wind, an instant,
Tears the cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag
In glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam,
And bands' brave music pour.
We are coming, Father Abr'am,
Three hundred thousand more!


We Are Coming From The Cotton Fields
Music by J. C. Wallace
Lyrics by J. C---N

We are coming from the cotton fields,
We're coming from afar;
We have left the plow, the hoe and ax
And are going to the war;
We have left the old plantation seat,
The sugar and the cane
Where we work'd and toil'd with weary feet,
In sun and wind and rain.


Chorus
Then come along my boys,
Oh, come, come along;
Then come along my boys,
Oh, come, come along.
We are coming from the cotton fields,
We're coming from afar;
We have left the plow, the hoe and ax
And are going to the war.


We have digg'd our last pertater
Here in old Caroliner State,
And we'll leave these sandy diggin's now
For the true Confederate.
We have left the frogs within the slough
To sing alone and hop
In the swamplands and the meadows where
We reap'd Ol' Massa's crop.

We will leave our chains behind us, boys,
The prison and the rack;
And we'll hide beneath a soldier's coat
The scars upon our backs;
And we'll teach the world a lesson soon -
If taken by the hand -
How the night shall come before 'tis noon
Upon ol' Pharoah's land.


By the heavy chains that bound our hands
Thro' centuries of wrong,
We have learn'd the hard bought lesson well,
How to suffer and be strong;
And we only ask the power to show,
What freedom does for man;
And we'll give a sign to friend and foe,
As none beside us can.



WE CONQUER OR DIE
James Pierpont

The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight,
The stern bigot Northman exults in his might;
Gird on your bright weapons, your foemen are nigh
And this be our watchword: "We conquer or die."

The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore,
Your swords and your lances must slumber no more;
Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high,
Inscribed with the watchword: "We conquer or die."

March on the battlefield, there to do or dare,
With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share;
And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky,
Till the blue arch re-echoes, "We conquer or die."

Press forward undaunted nor think of retreat;
The enemy's host on the threshold to meet.
Strike firm, till the foeman before you shall fly,
Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die."

Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod;
We, too, fight for freedom - our Captain is God.
Their blood in our veins, with their honors we vie;
Theirs, too, was the watchword, "We conquer or die."

We strike for the South - mountain, valley and plain;
For the South we will conquer again and again.
Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh;
Ours, then, be the watchword, "We conquer or die."

 


we raise de wheat
Untitled Slave Song, Titled
"We Raise De Wheat"
For Reference
From My Bondage And Freedom
Frederick Douglass
1853

We raise de wheat, Dey giv us de corn;
We raise de wheat, Dey giv us de corn.

We bake de bread, Dey giv us de crust;
We bake de bread, Dey giv us de crust.

We sif de meal, Dey gib us de huss;
We sif de meal, Dey gib us de huss.

We peel de meat, Dey giv us de skin;
We peel de meat, Dey giv us de skin.

And dat's de way Dey take us in;
And dat's de way Dey take us in.

We skim de pot, Dey gib us de liquor ,
We skim de pot, Dey gib us de liquor.

And say dat's good enough for nigger;
And say dat's good enough for nigger .

 


Sad News

WEEPING, SAD AND LONELY
Or,
WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER

NORTHERN VERSION

Dearest love, do you remember when we last did meet
How you told me that you loved me, kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me in your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country ever to be true.

Chorus
Weeping, sad and lonely, hope and fears how vain!
Yet praying, when this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again!

When the summer breeze is sighing mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling, sadly breathes the song;
Oft in dreams I see thee lying on the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying, calling - but in vain.

If amid the din of battle, nobly you should fall
Far away from those who love you, none to hear you call -
Who would whisper words of comfort, who would soothe your pain?
Ah! The many cruel fancies ever in my brain.

But your country called you, darling, angels cheer your way;
While our nation's sons are fighting, we can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and liberty, let all nations see
How we love the starry banner, emblem of the free.



Best Friends
By Amy Lindenberger

WEEPING, SAD AND LONELY
Or,
WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER

SOUTHERN VERSION

Dearest love, do you remember when we last did meet
How you told me that you loved me, kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me in your suit of gray,
When you vowed to me and country ne'er to go astray.

Chorus
Weeping, sad and lonely; sighs and tears - how vain!
Yet praying, when this cruel war is over,
Praying then to meet again!

When the summer breeze is sighing mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling, sadly breathes the song;
Oft in dreams I see thee lying on the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying, calling - but in vain.

If amid the din of battle, nobly you should fall
Far away from those who love you, none to hear you call -
Who would whisper words of comfort, who would soothe your pain?

Ah! The many cruel fancies ever in my brain.

But your country called you, darling, angels cheer your way;
While our Southern boys are fighting, we can also pray.
When you strike for God and freedom, let all nations see
How we love our Southern banner, emblem of the free!

 


WE'RE THE BOYS FOR MEXICO
To the tune of YANKEE DOODLE

The Mexicans are doomed to fall - God has, in wrath, forsook 'em;
All their goods and chattels call on us to go and hook 'em.

Chorus
We're the boys for Mexico - sing Yankee Doodle Dandy;
Gold and silver images are plentiful and handy.

Churches grand, with altars tall; saints with diamond collars;
That's the talk to understand with bright and shiny dollars.

The Mexicans have cut on high, and we have let 'em do it;
Now they got our dander riz', and so they'll have to rue it.

We'll have a corps of editors, each with a mighty bellows,
To strike a mortal terror in those tarnal Spanish fellows.

And when we've laid aside our arms with nothing more to vex us,
We'll vote ourselves extensive farms, each one the size of Texas.

And when our flag has been upheld and crushed lies each presumer,
We'll open free and easy in the Halls of Montezuma.

Hurrah for the Lou'siana boys - we are the Boys so handy;
We'll teach the Mexicans to fear our Yankee Doodle Dandy.

 


We're Traveling Home To Heaven Above

We're traveling home to heaven above,
Will you go? 
To sing the Saviour's dying love,
Will you go? 
Millions have reached that blest abode, 
Anointed kings and priests to God, 
And millions more are on the road,
Will you go? 

We're going to see the bleeding Lamb,
Will you go? 
In rapturous strains to praise his name,
Will you go? 
The crown of life we there shall wear, 
The conqueror's palms our hands shall bear, 
And all the joys of heaven we'll share,
Will you go? 


We're going to join the heavenly choir,
Will you go? 
To raise our voice and tune the lyre,
Will you go? 
There saints and angels gladly sing 
Hosanna to their God and King, 
And make the heavenly arches ring,
Will you go? 

The way to heaven is straight and plain.
Will you go? 
Repent. believe. be born again,
Will you go? 
The Saviour cries aloud to thee, 
"Take up thy cross and follow me, 
And thou shalt my salvation see,
Come to me." 


We've Drunk from the Same Canteen
Words & Music By Private Miles O'Reilly
Otherwise Known As Charles Graham Halpine

There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours;
Fetters of friendship and ties of flowers,
And true lovers' knots, I ween,
The boy and the girl are bound by a kiss,
But there's never a bond, old friend, like this;
We have drunk from the same canteen.

Chorus
The same canteen, my soldier friend, the same canteen,
There's never a bond, old friend like this;
We have drunk from the same canteen.

We've shared our blankets and tent together,
And marched and fought ion all kinds of weather,
And hungry and full we've been,

Had days of battle and days of rest,
But this mem'ry I cling to and love the best;
We have drunk from the same canteen. 

The rich and the great sit down to dine,
And they quaff to each other in sparkling wine,
From glasses crystal and green.
But I guess in their golden potations they miss
The warmth of regard to be found in this;
We have drunk from the same canteen.

Is was sometimes water, and sometimes milk,
And sometimes applejack fine as silk.
But whatever the tipple has been,
We shared it together in bane or bliss
And I warm to you, friend, when I think of this;
We have drunk from the same canteen.

For when wounded I lay on the outer slope,
With my blood flowing fast, 
And but little hope on which my faint spirits might lean.
Oh, then I remember you crawled to my side,
And bleeding so fast, it seemed both must have died,
We've drunk from the same canteen. 

"Private Miles O'Reilly," otherwise known as Charles Graham Halpine (1829-1868), immigrated to America from Ireland. When the war broke out he joined the "Fighting Irish" New York 69th Regiment, where he rose from the rank of Llieutenant to Brigadier General.


WHAT A HEEL SHE'S GOT BEHIND HER
To the tune of THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME

Down in de hills ob Indian'
I loved a sylph so sable,
Her skin was as black as oak-tan,
And her breff as sweet as an apple.
Her legs was straight as grapevine limbs
Dat 'round a stone fence twine, sar,
And folks cried when dey seen her shin,
"What a heel she's got behind her!"

Chorus
Sing, tramp it, locomotive shin,
All creeping insects mind her,
Or else you'd wid de earth cave in
By de heel she's got behind her.

Oh, when dat head first touched dis chest,
How it set dis heart a-beating,
It made de wind walk through my breast,
Like a steam bullgine a-beating.
At a ball she wore a frock so tall,
O'er heel, so none could find her,
But dey cried out as she touched de hall,
"What a heel she'd got behind her!"

And when she joined in de quadrille,
Dat long heel found de hall, sar,
And like de grindstone ob a mill,
Upon all toes it fall, sar.
Six darkies followed at her heel,
Fast in dar arms to bind her;
She raised dat shin, dey drapt and cried,
"What a heel she has behind her!"

One day while walking down de street,
She lit on five dogs' tails, sar;
De canines tried for to retreat,
But she held dem fast as nails, sar.
Dey fit an' scratched an' yelled, "Ki, yi!",
Dar rudders to unbind, sar;
And, as dey flew, dey seemed to cry,
"What a heel she's got behind her!"

I took her to the church to shout,
And as soon as we got in, sar,
De back part of de pew caved out,
When she put down her shin, sar.
De preacher's eye just caught dat shin -
It so consoled his mind, sar -
Dat he lead-out, "Let's sing dat hymn,
'What A Heel She's Got Behind Her'."

As Sung by Mr. J. Carroll.
Andrews', Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y.
Dealer in Songs, Games, Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c.
Wholesale and Retail.


WHAT CHILD IS THIS?

What Child is this who, laid to rest,
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste to bring him laud:
The Babe, the Son of Mary!

Why lies He in such mean estate
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through;
The cross be borne for me and you;
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh;
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of Kings salvation brings -
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise the song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby;
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!


When I Saw Sweet Nellie Home
Words By Francis Kyle
Music By J. Fletcher

1856

Chorus
In the sky, the bright stars are glittered,
On the grass the moonlight fell;
Hushed the sound of daylight bustle,
Closed the pink-eyed pimpernel;
As a-down the moss-grown wood path
Where the cattle love to roam,
From Aunt Dinah's quilting party
I was seeing Nelly home.

When the autumn tinged the greenwood,
Turning all its leaves to gold,
In the lawn by the elders shaded,
I my love to Nelly told.
As we stood together gazing
On the star-bespangled dome,
How I blessed the August evening
When I saw sweet Nelly home.

White hairs mingled with my tresses,
Furrows steal upon my brow;
But a love smile cheers and blesses
Life's declining moments now.
Matron in the snowy kerchief,
Closer to my bosom come;
Tell me, do'st thou still remember
When I saw sweet Nelly home?

 


WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS
Words By Isaac Watts
Music By Lowell Mason
1824

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were all the realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

 


WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME
Words By Patrick S. Gilmore
To the tune of JOHNNY WE HARDLY KNEW YE
1863

When Johnny comes marching home again,
Hurrah, hurrah!
We'll give him a hearty welcome then,
Hurrah, hurrah!
The men will cheer, the boys will shout,
The ladies they will all turn out,
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.

The old church bell will peal with joy,
Hurrah, hurrah!
To welcome home our darling boy,
Hurrah, hurrah!
The village lads and lassies say
With roses they will strew the way,
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.

Get ready for the Jubilee,
Hurrah, hurrah!
We'll give the hero three times three,
Hurrah, hurrah!
The laurel wreath is ready now
To place upon his loyal brow,
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.

Let love and friendship on that day,
Hurrah, hurrah!
Their choicest treasures then display,
Hurrah, hurrah!
And let each one perform some part
To fill with joy the warrior's heart,
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.

We've got most glorious news today,
Hurrah, hurrah!
For Johnny's coming home today,
Hurrah, hurrah!
A soldier of the "loyal band",
Returning to his "native land",
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.

When Johnny comes home, the girls will say,
"Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll have sweethearts now to cheer our way,
Hurrah, hurrah!"
If they lost a leg, the girls won't run,
For half a man is better than none,
And we'll all feel gay when
Johnny comes marching home.


WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER
OR,
WEEPING SAD AND LONELY
See WEEPING SAD AND LONELY


WHEN UPON THE FIELD OF GLORY:
AN ANSWER TO
"WHEN tHIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER"

Words By John Hill Hewitt
Music By Herman L. Schreiner
1864
To the tune of WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER

When upon the field of glory, 'mid the battle cry,
And the smoke of cannon curling 'round the mountain high;
Then sweet mem'ries will come o'er me, painting home and thee,
Nerving me to deeds of daring, struggling to be free.

Chorus
Weep no longer, dearest; tears are now in vain.
When this cruel war is over, we may meet again.

Oft I think of joys departed, oft I think of thee;
When night's sisters throw around me their star'd canopy.
Dreams so dear come o'er my pillow, bringing up the past.
Oh! how sweet the soldier's visions! Oh! how short they last!

When I stand, a lonely picket, gazing on the moon,
As she walks her starry pathway in night's silent noon;
I will think that thou art looking on her placid face;
Then our thoughts will meet together in a heavenly place.

When the bullet, swiftly flying through the murky air,
Hits its mark - my sorrow'd bosom - leaving death's pang there;
Then my thoughts on thee will turn, love, when I prostrate lie.
My pale lips shall breathe "God bless thee! - For our cause I die!"

Final Chorus
Weep then for me, dearest, when I'm free from pain;
When this cruel war is over, in Heaven we'll meet again.

To Misses Emma Blair, Annie Woodward, Savannah, Ga.


Who Will Care For Mickey Now?
Words By Eugene T. Johnston
Music By Charles C. Sawyer

Arrah! Molly darlin', I am drafted
Sure I must for a soger go.
An' lave you all alone behind me
For to fight the Rebel foe.
But be the powers, me pluck is failin'
Big drops of sweat rowl down me brow;
Och, millia murther! I am drafted
Who will care for Micky now?

Chorus
Soon 'gainst Rebels I'll be marching
With the swate upon me brow;
Och, blood an' nons, i'm kilt entirely
Who will care for Micky now?

Arrah! Who will comfort me in sorrow
Wid a drop of gin or beer?
Wash me dirty shirts an' stockin's
Faith, there is no one I fear.
Me feet are blisteredwid the marchin'
Me knapsack makes me shoulders bow,
Pork an' crackers are me rations
Who will care for Micky now?

Indade, I miss me feather pillow
An' bed, on which I used to lie;
The pine planks make me feel uneasy
If I had wings, och! Wudn't I fly?
But one of me legs is stiff, dear
Since I was kicked by Murphy's cow,
I'm afeared I niver can skedaddle
Who will care for Micky now?

 

The Why And The Wherefore

"Where, where, where, and where,
and where are you bound, young man?"
"I'm off to the war with the good men and true,
and hadn't you better come along too?
I speak my mind quite freely now reelly."

"Why, why, why, and why,
and why to the war, young man?"
"Did a man ever fight for a holier cause,
than freedom and flag and equal laws?
Just speak your mind quite freely - now reely."

"Which, which, which, and which,
and which is the flag of the free?"
"O, Washington's flag, with the Stripes and the Stars,
will you give such a name to the thing with the bars?
I speak my mind quite freely - now reely."

"Who, who, who, and who,
and who goes with you to the war?"
"Ten thousand brave lads, and if they should stay here,
the girls would cry shame, and they'd volunteer!
They speak their mind quite freely - now reely."

"When, when, when, and when,
and when do you mean to come back?"
"When Rebellion is crushed and the Union restored,
and freedom is safe - yes, then, please the Lord!
I speak my mind quite freely - now reely."

"What, what, what, and what,
and what will you gain by that?"
"O, I've gained enough whatever the cost,
if freedom, the hope of the world, isn't lost,
I speak my mind quite freely - now reely."

This song is written to the tune of an old traditional German song, "Es, es, es und es, es ist ein harter Schluss, weil, weil, weil und weil, weil ich aus Frankfurt muss", often sung by young wandering craftsmen without "Meistertitel" (Certified Masterhood, which was required by the regional corporations and guilds). In the middle of the 19th century, to become a "Meister" was clearly out of reach for a huge mass of those young men, as it was deliberately blocked by the guilds.  So most of them became either emigrants or revolutionaries or both.  It is quite clear that they took their songs with them.


Wide Awake Jordan
Words By William C. Marion
To the tune of JORDAN IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL

Oh! the Wide Awakes and White Hats am getting all the go,
And the Wide Awakes will wear them according;
In spite of all the Micks, you can raise to fight with sticks,
For they'll drive them to the other side of Jordan.

Chorus
Then I took off my coat, and I roll up my sleeve,
Over Jordan is a hard road to travel;
Then I took off my coat, and I roll up my sleeve,
Over Jordan is a hard road to travel, I believe.

No popery - that's a go, and the wide awakes will show
That they can sing it out according;
If you want your head broke, just hurrah for the pope,
And they'll knock you to the other side of Jordan.

Oh! the Mickeys of New Orleans thought to carry the day, a feat,
But the greatest news they ever heard on
Was that their candidates were beat by the Know-Nothings
For they voted them the other side of Jordan.

Street preaching am the fashion, it am getting all the go,
And the Wide Awakes attend there according;
So if you're fond of black eyes, tell the preacher that he lies,
And they'll kick you to the other side of Jordan.

Our election is coming, and the Irish are a-drumming
Up all the voters that they can depend on;
So perhaps we'll have to fight, for we'll stick to our right,
And we will challenge them to the other side of Jordan.

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

 


Wild Ned Farewell
Or,
The Texas Ranger
1862

Come lis'n to the ranger
You kind-hearted stranger,
A song tho' a sad one
You're welcome to hear.
We have kept the Comanches
Away from your ranches
And followed them far
O'er the Texas frontier.

But we are weary of scouting,
Of trailing and routing
The blood thirsty brutes
Over prairies and wood.
There's no rest for the sinner;
No breakfast, no dinner,
For he sleeps on a supperless
Bed in the mud.


There's no corn, no potatoes,
No beets, no tomatoes,
And the jerked beef
As dry as the sole of your shoe.
All day without drinking,
All night without winking;
I'll tell you, kind stranger,
This never will do.

For the great alligators
Or the State legislators
Are puffing and blowing
Two-thirds of their time.
But windy orations,
Or ranging, or rashing,
Willn't put in your pocket
One-tenth of a dime.


They do not regard us;
They will not reward us,
Tho' hungry and haggard
With holes in our coats.
But the 'lection is coming,
And then they'll be drumming -
Praising your valor
To purchase your vote.

Since glory's all payment,
Both victuals and raiment,
I'll fight them no more
On the Texas frontier.
So look to your ranches,
And mind the Comanches,
Or surely they'll scalp you
In less than one year.


Tho' sore it may grieve you,
The ranger must leave you
Exposed to the arrow
And knife of the foe.
Yes, fight your own battles,
And hunt your own cattle,
For home to the States
I am determined to go.

Where houses are peopled,
And churches are steepled,
And laws are more equal,
And ladies more kind.
Where worth is regarded,
And work is rewarded,
Where pumpkins grow plenty,
And pockets well lined.


From Confederate Reminiscences and Letters, 1861-1865_. vol. 6. Atlanta: Georgia Division, United Daughters of the Confederacy, 1997, pp. 196-198.

Confederate soldier T. F. Cheek from Weatherford, Texas wrote his wife in the summer of 1862 about the song WILD NED FAREWLL, Or, THE TEXAS RANGER.  He wrote, "I occasionally go round and listen to some good song or some selected and tastey air. There is one that has grown very popular....(and is) sung nearly every night by some excellent singers in our company.  Enclosed I send you the ballad.  It is sung to the tune ROYAL BAND, the first words of which are Hosannah to Jesus.  That is all I remember, though I have heard you sing it often."


WILDWOOD FLOWER
See I'LL TWINE 'MID THE RINGLETS


Will You Come To The Bow'r?
Words By Thomas Moore
Music By Anonymous
1836

Will you come to the Bow'r I've shaded for you?
Your bed shall be flow'rs all spangled with dew.
Will you come to the Bow'r I've shaded for you?
Your bed shall be flow'rs all spangled with dew.

Refrain
Will you, will you, will you, will you come to the Bow'r?
Will you, will you, will you, will you come to the Bow'r?

There under the Bow'r on roses you lie
With a blush in your cheek and a smile in your eye.
There under the Bow'r on roses you lie
With a blush in your cheek and a smile in your eye.


But the roses to touch shall not rival your lip,
Nor the dew be so sweet at the kisses we sip.
But the roses to touch shall not rival your lip,
Nor the dew be so sweet at the kisses we sip.

And Oh! for the Joys that are sweeter than dew
From languishing roses and kisses from you.
And Oh! for the Joys that are sweeter than dew
From languishing roses and kisses from you.



WITCHING DINAH CROW
Words By William Vanderbeek
1848

Now, darkies, I will tell you ob a most unlucky fate
Dat happen'd to a color'd gal from ole Kentucky state.
De subject ob my story is about one Dinah Crew,
Who was drown'd, and den found dead in de ribber O-hi-o!

Chorus
Oh, witching Dinah Crow! Oh, witching Dinah Crow!
Who was drown'd, and den found dead in de ribber O-hi-o.

On a bery cloudy morning when de wind war radder high,
Oh, stormy war de wedder, and rainy war de sky!
She got aboard de horse-boat to cross de O-hi-o,
But fell into de ribber! Poor, unlucky Dinah Crow!

De darkies all did mourn her loss - they'd neber see her more!
They got a cotton handkerchief dat floated on de shore!
Dey held an inquest on de body about de poor gal's deff;
De verdict ob de jury war she drown'd - for want of breff!

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


WONDROUS LOVE
1840

What wondrous love is this, oh my soul, oh my soul?
What wondrous love is this, oh my soul?
What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul?

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down beneath God's righteous frown,
Christ laid aside his crown for my soul, for my soul,
Christ laid aside his crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing, I will sing,
To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing,
To God and to the Lamb, who is the great I AM
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing,
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on, I'll sing on, I'll sing on,
And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on;
And when from death I'm free, I'll sing and joyful be,
And through eternity I'll sing on, I'll sing on,
And through eternity I'll sing on.


Working Boy

I am a little husbandman,
Work and labor hard I can;
I'm as happy all the day
At my work as if 'twere play;
Tho' I've nothing fine to wear,
Yet for that I do not care.

When to work I go along,
Singing loud my merry song,
With my wallet on my back,
And my wagon whip to crack -
O, I am more happy then
Than the little gentleman.

I have a hearty appetite,
And I soundly sleep at night;
Down I lie, content, and say,
"I've been useful all the day."
Rather be a plow-boy then,
Than a useless gentleman.

From Beadle's Dime School Melodist; New York, 1860

 

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