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

lee's songbook

b


BABYLON IS FALLEN

Words & Music By Henry Clay Work
1863

Don't you see the black clouds risin' ober yonder
Where de Massa's old plantation am?
Neber you be frightened - dem is only darkies
Come to jine and fight for Uncle Sam.

  Chorus
  Look out dar, now! We's a-gwine to shoot!
  Look out dar, don't you understand?
  (Oh, don't you know dat)
  Babylon is fallen, Babylon is fallen
  And we's a-gwine to occupy de land.

  Don't you see the lightnin' flashin' in the canebrake
  Like as if we's gwine to hab a storm?
  No! You is mistaken; 'tis de darkies' bay'nets
  An' de buttons on dar uniform.

  Way up in de cornfield where you hear de tunder,
  Dat is our ole forty-pounder gun;
  When de shells are missin', den we load wid pumpkins
  All de same to make de cowards run.

  Massa was de Kernel in de Rebel army,
  Eber sence he went an' run away;
  But his lubly darkies, dey has been a-watchin'
  An' dey take him pris'ner t'udder day.

  We will be the Massa, he will be de servant -
  Try him how he like it for a spell;
  So we crack de Butt'nuts, so we take de Kernel
  So de cannon carry back de shell.


Balm of Gilead

Arranged by H. T. Byrant
1861

CHORUS A
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Down't the peach blow farm.
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Down't the peach blow farm.

Massa loved his good old Jamaica,
His good old Jamaica, his good old Jamaica;
Massa loved his good old Jamaica,
Down in Alabama.

CHORUS B
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Ah, ah,
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Oh, my lamb.

CHORUS A
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Down't the peach blow farm.
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Down't the peach blow farm.

Ain't I glad to get out the wilderness,
get out the wilderness, get out the wilderness,
Ain't I glad to get out the wilderness,
Oh my lamb.

CHORUS B
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Ah, ah,
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Oh, my lamb.

CHORUS A
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Down't the peach blow farm.
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Down't the peach blow farm.

My old horse he came from Jerusalem,
he came from Jerusalem, he came from Jerusalem,
He kicked so high they put him in the museum,
Down in Alabama.

CHORUS B
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Ah, ah,
Hip! hip! hurrah!
Oh, my lamb.

CHORUS A
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Oh, we ain't going home any more,
Down't the peach blow farm.
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Balm of Gilead,
Down't the peach blow farm.

Boston: Oliver Ditson


The Baltimore Girls
To the tune of DEAREST MAE

Oh, the Girls of dear old Baltimore,
So beautiful and fair,
With eyes like diamonds sparkling,
And richly flowing hair.
Their hearts are light and cheerful,
And their spirits ever gay;
The Girls of dear old Baltimore,
How beautiful are they. 

They smile when we are happy,
When we are sad they sigh;
When anguish wrings our bosoms,
The tear they gently dry.
Oh, happy is this city that owns their tender sway,
The Girls of dear old Baltimore,
How beautiful are they.

They are like the lovely flowers,
In summer time that bloom
On the sportive breezes shedding
Their choice and sweet perfume.
Our eyes and hearts delighting
With their fanciful array,
The Girls of dear old Baltimore,
How beautiful are they. 

Then ever like true patriots,
May we join both heart and hand
To protect our lovely maidens
Of this our down-trod land;
And that heaven may ever bless them,
We'll all devoutly pray,
The Girls of dear old Baltimore,
How beautiful are they. 

From CIVIL WAR SONG SHEETS, SERIES 1, VOLUME 1


THE BANKS OF THE OHIO
Anonymous
ca 1840

I asked my love to take a walk, just to walk for a little way.
And as we walked, 'twas then we talked of our coming wedding day.

Chorus
Then only say that you'll be mine, and in no other arms entwine;
Down beside where the waters flow, down by the banks of the Ohio.

I asked your mother for you, dear, and she said you were too young.
Only say that youll be mine, and happiness in my home you'll find.

I held a knife against her breast as gently in my arms she pressed,
Crying, "Willie, don't you murder me for I'm not prepared for eternity!
"

I took her by her lily white hand, and led her down where the waters stand;
I picked her up and pitched her in, and watched her as she floated down.

I started home 'twixt twelve and one, cryin', "Oh my God! What have I done?
I've murdered the only woman I love because she could not be my bride.
"

 


BARBARA ALLEN
Anonymous
Arranged By G.A. MacFarren
1851

All in the merry month of May, when green buds they were swelling,
Sweet William on his deathbed lay for the love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his servant to the town, to the place where she was dwelling,
Saying, "Hasten away and come with me, if your name be Barbara Allen."

Then slowly, slowly she got up and slowly she came nigh him,
And all the words she would speak to him, "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O, yes, I'm sick and very sick and death is on me dwelling.
No better, no better I never will be if I can't have Barbara Allen."

As she was on her highway home, she spied his corpse a-coming;
"Set down, set down this corpse of clay that I may look upon him."


The more she looked, the more she wept, till she fell to the ground, a-crying,
"O, pick me up and carry me home, for I am now a-dying."

"O, Father, O, Father, go dig my grave; go dig it long and narrow.
Sweet William died for me today, I'll die for him tomorrow."

Upon her grave there grew a red rose; on William's grave grew a briar.
They twined and they twined in a true-lover's knot, and the rose grew around the briar.

Abraham Lincoln once said that everything he was, or hoped to be, he owed to his mother, Nancy Hanks Lincoln.  One of the many great impressions she made on her children was through her evident love for reading and music, as demonstrated by her regularly reading and singing to the children evenings in their log cabin in Kentucky.  Like many Appalachian singers, her repertoire consisted heavily of old English ballads.  Lincoln is reputed to have said of his mother BARBARA ALLEN was his mother's favorite song.


BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM
- NORTHERN -

Words & Music By George F. Root
1862

Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
We will rally from the hillside, we'll gather from the plains,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

Chorus
The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor, up with the star
While we rally round the flag, boys, rally once again -
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true and brave,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
And altho' they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
And we'll hurl the Rebel crew from the land we love the best,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

 



America's Shrine To Music Museum
Civil War Drums & Brass Instruments


BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM
- SOUTHERN -

1862

We are marching to the field, boys, we're going to the fight,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
And we bear the Heavenly cross for our cause is in the right,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.

Chorus
Our rights forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!
Down with the tyrants, raise the Southern star!
And we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!

We'll meet the Yankee hosts, boys, with fearless hearts and true,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
And we'll show the dastard minions what Southern pluck can do,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom.

We'll fight them to the last, boys, tho' we fall in the strife,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!
Our comrades - noble boys! will avenge us, life for life,
Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom!


BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
Words By Julia Ward Howe
To the tune of JOHN BROWN'S SONG
1862

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.

Chorus
Glory! glory, hallelujah!
Glory! glory, hallelujah!
Glory! glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery Gospel writ in rows of burnished steel
As you deal with My contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel!
His truth is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
O be swift, my soul, to answer Him;! Be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.

In beauty of the lilies, Christ born across the sea
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us live to make men free,
While God is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave;
He is wisdom to the mighty, He is honor to the brave;
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of wrong His slave.
Our God is marching on.

"Battle Hymn of the Republic" (1861) was a marching song of the Northern army during the Civil War. It brought tears to Lincoln's eyes on various occasions. The original popular lyrics were "John Brown's Body." The tune is that of an old Methodist hymn, although the closing theme is attributed by some to Stephen Foster's "Ellen Bayne."


THE BATTLE OF JERICHO

Negro Spiritual

Chorus
Joshua fit the battle ob Jericho, Jericho, Jericho,
Joshua fit de battle ob Jericho
And de walls come a-tumblin' down.

You may talk about your kings of Gideon,
You may talk about your men of Saul;
But there's none like good old Joshua
At the battle of Jericho.

Now the Lord commanded Joshua,
"I command you, and obey you must;
You just march straight to those city walls,
And the walls will turn to dust."

Straight up to the walls of Jericho
He marched with spear in hand;
"Go blow that ram's horn," Joshua cried,
"For the battle is in my hand."

The lamb-ram-sheep's horns began to blow,
And the trumpets began to sound;
And Joshua commanded, "Now children, shout!"
And the walls came tumbling down.


BEAUTIFUL DREAMER

Words And Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1862

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away.
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody.
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.

"Beautiful Dreamer" is among Foster's most memorable sentimental ballads. It was written in 1862, just two years before Foster's death. It comes the closest to the classical song tradition of any of Foster's popular ballads and appears to represent the culmination of an effort to develop a unique style distinct from earlier influences.


BELIEVE ME IF ALL THOSE
ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS

Words And Music By Thomas Moore
1823

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms
Like fairy gifts fading away;
Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art -
Let thy loveliness fade as it will -
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known
To which time will but make thee more dear.
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns to her God when he sets
The same look which she turned when she rose.

Thomas Moore, 1779-1852 from his IRISH MELODIES (1808-1834).


BELLE OB TENNISEE

White folks, now have pity, an' listen unto me,
I tell you 'bout a gal I lubed dat libed in Tenisee;
Her hair so black an' curly, her teeth so berry white,
Her eyes dey was just like de stars, dey shine so bright at night.

Chorus
Rosa, dearest Rosa, my heart still beats for thee,
You're de only yaller gal I love, de Belle of Tenisee.

When I left that happy spot, it griebed my heart full sore,
To tink ob leabing her behind, an' neber see her more.
De tears dey started from my eyes, as Rosa said to me,
”My dearest Joe, don't leabe me so alone in Tenisee.”

You may talk about Susanna, an' your pretty Susa Teil,
De Belle ob Lou'siana, an' de charming Lucy Neal;
But wid my dearest Rosa, no oder one can shine,
When dey come to talk of beauty - why, she leabe them all behind.

If Rosa she war mine again, how good dis nigger'd feel;
I'd play upon de banjo den, while Rosa dance de reel.
I'd hunt de coon an' possum, for it war my only pride;
Den happy, happy would I be, wid Rosa by my side.

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


BELOVED, IT IS WELL
George W. Doane
1833

Beloved, "It is well!" - God's ways are always right,
And perfect love is o'er them all though far above our sight.

Beloved, "It is well!" - though deep and sore the smart,
The hand that wounds knows how to bind and heal the broken heart.

Beloved, "It is well!" - though sorrow clouds our way,
'Twill only make the joy more dear that ushers in the day.

Beloved, "It is well!" - the path that Jesus trod,
Though rough and strait and dark it be, leads home to heaven and God.


Ben McCullough
To the tune of SOMETHING NEW COMES EVERY DAY

Oh, have you heard of the brave old fellow?
He goes by the name of Ben McCullough,
He fills his foes with consternation,
He's the pride of all the Southern nation.

Refrain
Oh dear, oh, 'tis truth what I tell,
'Mid fire and powder he loves to dwell. 

He's the man above all the rest, sirs,
That scatters all the Lincoln nests, sirs,
That makes them fly at the smell of powder,
That uses them up like old fish chowder.

The Kentucky boys he's got to back him,
The Iowa boys will fail to crack him,
The Illinois crew he'll beat all hollow,
Be quick Indiana, if him you want to follow.


He comes upon his foes like red hot brick bats,
He takes off their scalps like so many wild cats,
Anthony Wayne is no circumstance to him,
Though many of his foes do strive to undo him.

Huzza for McCullough the brave rifle ranger,
The friend of truth - to vice a stranger,
He's a hard old knot of the hickory tree, sir,
He'll work night and day to set the South free sir.

From CIVIL WAR SONG SHEETS, SERIES 2, VOLUME 1

 


BESSIE LANE
To the tune of NELLY GRAY
1860

'Twas a neat little cottage, where my Bessie used to dwell,
With bright roses blooming round the door,
Half hidden by the foliage of the trees within the dell,
As it stood by the bright river shore.

Chorus
Oh! my poor Bessie Lane, shall we never meet again!
Never sail upon the river any more?
I am thinking of you, Bessie, and my tears fall down like rain,
As I weep by the old cabin door.

On calm and pleasant evenings, with my banjo all in tune,
I would take Bessie out in my canoe,
And we'd sing as we floated, in the light of the moon,
Far down the bright river so blue.

Way down in yonder valley, 'neath the old chesnut tree,
They have laid my poor Bessie in the ground,
Where the violets and daisies bloom so thickly on the lea,
And the tall trees are sighing all around.

I will seek the lone valley when the bright moon appears,
And kneel beneath the tall trees that wave;
I will sing of my Bessie, and I'll water, with my tears,
The flow'rs that are blooming o'er her grave.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher. Songs, ballads, toy books, &c. 38 & 69 Chatham Street, N.Y. Border--The Trapper. ENTERED according to Act of Congress in the year 1860, by H. DE MARSAN, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.


BILE DEM CABBAGE DOWN

Bile dem cabbage down, down; bake dat hoecake brown, brown;
The only song that I can sing is "Bile Dem Cabbage Down"!

Racoon has a bushy tail, possum's tail is bare;
Rabbit has no tail at all, but a little ball of hair.

Racoon and de possum, rackin' cross de prairie;
Racoon ax de possum, "Do you want to marry?"

Jaybird died with a whooping cough, sparrow died with colic;
Along come a frog with a fiddle on his back, inquirin' his way to the frolic.

Took my gal to the blacksmith shop to have her mouth made small;
She turned around a time or two and swallowed shop and all.

Possum in a 'simmon tree, raccoon on the ground;
Raccoon says, "You son of a gun, shake some 'simmons down.
"

Someone stole my 'coon dog, wish they'd bring him back;
He chased the big hogs through the fence and the little ones through the
crack.

Met a 'possum in the road, blind as he could be;
He jumped the fence and whipped my dog, and bristled up at me.

Once I had an old gray mule, his name was Simon Slick;
He'd roll his eyes and back his ears, and how that mule would kick!

How that mule would kick - he kicked with is dying breath;
He shoved his hind feet down his throat and kicked himself to death.


Billy Barlow
Words By Edward Clifford

Good evening, kind friends,
How do you all do?
'Tis a very long time
Since I've been to see you.
I am a volunteer
For the Union I go;
And I'm down on Secession,
Is Billy Barlow.


Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But a bully old soldier is Billy Barlow.


Since last I saw you,
To Richmond I've been,
And during my stay
Mrs. Davis, I've seen.
She treated me kindly,
And smiled on me so.
Old Jeff, he got jealous
Of Billy Barlow

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But the ladies all like Mr. William Barlow.

Now the other night,
While out for a lark,
I lost my way,
It being quite dark.
A sentinel grabbed me,
To the guardhouse I did go
Oh! That was too rough
On old Billy Barlow.

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But they should not abuse old Billy Barlow.


Now I see on picket
Every time I go out,
A nice little gal
her name is Lize Stout.
They say she's Secesh,
But I know that's not so.
For she'll stand by the Union
With Billy Barlow.

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But a very good fellow is Billy Barlow.


Now, there's one thing I
Can't help but to look at:
That is what keeps our Quartermaster
So sleek and so fat.
It may not be good living,
But there's one thing I know -
He'd get thin on the grub
He gives Billy Barlow.

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But I'm used to good living, is Billy Barlow.

It's down in Virginia
At a place called Bull Run
Where first our brave soldiers,
Their fighting begun.
It's true they got routed,
But then you all know,
It was on account of the absence
Of Billy Barlow.

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But a bully old soldier is Billy Barlow.

Just a few words more,
Then I shall have done;
And I hope what I've said,
You'll take all in fun.
If I have not done right,
Why, please tell me so,
And I'll bid you good night,
Will Billy Barlow

Chorus
Oh! yes, I'm rough, I well know,
But I hope you'll excuse poor old Billy Barlow.


Billy Boy

Oh where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh where have you been, charming Billy?
I have been to seek a wife,
She's the joy of my life,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Did she bid you to come in, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Did she bid you to come in, tell me Billy?
Yes, she bade me to come in,
There's a dimple in her chin.
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Did she set you a chair, Billy Boy? Billy Boy?
Did she set you a chair, tell me Billy.
Yes, she set for me a chair,
She has ringlets in her hair,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Can she bake cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she bake cherry pie, tell me Billy.
She can bake a cherry pie,
There's a twinkle in her eye.
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.


Billy O'Rourke

Faith, I graased my brogues and took my stick the twentieth day of May, sirs,
Then off to Dublin town I tripped to walk upon the sea, sirs,
To see if I could get employ to cut their hay and corn, sirs,
To pick up pence upon the sea the cockneys I might larn, sirs.

Chorus
With my phillaloo and heart so true,
Arrah! Billy O'Rourke the Bochle.

I gave the captain six thirteens, to carry me o'er to Porgate,
But before we got half o' the road the wind it blew at a hard rate;
The sticks that grew up through the ship they sang out like a whistle,
And the sailors all, both great and small, they swore we's going to the devil.

The ship she sang us all to sleep till they came to the place of landing,
And those that were the most fatigued the sails were out a handing;
They looked so smart, they won my heart - says I, you fools of riches,
Although you've no tails to your coats, you've money in your breeches.

I met an honest gentleman a travelling the road, sirs,
Good morning, says I, pray how do you do? but he proved a mighty rogue, sirs,
For at the corner of a lane a pistol he pulled out, sirs,
And he rammed the muzzle, arrah, what a shame! into my very mouth, sirs.

Your money, blast your Irish eyes? Arrah! be merciful, cried I, sirs,
He swore my brains he would blow out if I should bawl or cry, sirs,
He levelled fair just for my sconce, three steps I did retire, sirs,
His pan it flashed, and his head I smashed - my shillelagh don't miss fire, sirs.

A widow next did me employ all for to cut and thrash, sirs,
No man like me could handle a flail, in troth, I was a dasher,
She had a maid that used me well, but I being afraid o' the beadle,
I bid her good morning - Madam, says I, I think you'll have use for your cradle.

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

 


BLACK EY'D MARY

To the tune of THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME

I'm lonesome since I crossed the saes; my mind is never azy;
No mortal sowl can give relaif; in troth, I'm getting crazy.
The burning tears roll down my chakes, in faith, they nearly blind me;
I weep and sigh, both day and night, for the girl I left behind me.

The lovely lass I courted long - she lives in Tipperary;
Her eyes were like the diamonds bright, and they call her black ey'd Mary.
In summer's night, I took delight, her beauty so inclined me;
A thousand crowns I'd give to see the girl I left behind me!

In foreign lands compelled to roam, yet often think of Mary,
The black ey'd Lass that won my heart, that lives in Tipperary.
On distant shores I weep and sigh, without a friend to mind me;
Bad luck unto the ship that sailed, and left the girl behind me!

If e'er I land on Erin's shores, I'll haste to Tipperary;
Within my arms I will embrace my lovely black ey'd Mary.
With her I'll dwell, while life shall last; for she'd roam the World to find me;

From Mary I'll not wander more - the girl I left behind me.


THE BLACKEST CROW
Traditional Appalachian Song

The blackest crow that ever flew would surely turn to white
Should ever I prove false to thee - bright day will turn to night;
Bright day will turn to night, my love - believe me when I say
You are the only one I'll love until my dying day.

I wish my heart was made of glass, wherein you might behold
That there your name is written, dear, in letters made of gold;
In letters made of gold, my love - believe me when I say
You are the only one I'll love until my dying day.

Oh, don't you see that lonesome dove? It flies from vine to vine;
It's mourning for its own true love just like I mourn for mine.
Just like I mourn for mine, my love - believe me when I say
You are the only one I'll love until my dying day.

I wish I'd come ten thousand miles, far from some distant shore;
Or down in some low valley place where the wild beast, it roars;

Hear the wild beast, how it roars, my love - believe me when I say
You are the only one I'll love until my dying day.


BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS
Words By John Fawcett
Music By Lowell Mason
1845

Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds is like that to that above.

Before our Father's throne we pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one; our comforts and our cares.

We share each other's woes, our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows the sympathizing tear.

When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again.

This glorious hope revives our courage by the way;
While each in expectation lives, and longs to see the day.

From sorrow, toil and pain, and sin, we shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign through all eternity.


Blow Ye the Trumpet, Blow
Music by Lewis Edson
Words by Charles Wesley

The year of jubilee is come!
The year of jubilee is come!
Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home.

The year of jubilee is come!
The year of jubilee is come!
Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home.

The year of jubilee is come!
The year of jubilee is come!
Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home.


The Blue Bells Of Scotland
Lyrics Appear In "One Hundred Songs of Scotland"
Published in Boston in 1858
Music Appears In "The Social Harp"

O where and o where is your Highland laddie gone?
O where and o where is your Highland laddie gone?
He's gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne,
And it's o, in my heart that I wish him safe at home.

O where, and o where, did your Highland laddie dwell?
O where, and o where, did your Highland laddie dwell?
He dwelt in merry Scotland at the sign of the blue bell;
And it's o, in my heart that I love my laddie well.

Suppose, and suppose that your Highland lad should die?
Suppose, and suppose that your Highland lad should die?
The bagpipes should play over him, I'd sit me down and cry,
And it's o, in my heart that I hope he will not die.



Blue Tail fly
From CHRISTY'S NIGGA SONGSTR
1850

If you should go, in summer time,
To South Carolinar's sultry clime,
An' in de shade you chance to lie,
You'll soon find out de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

Dar's many kind ob curious tings,
From different sort ob inseck springs;
Some hatch in June an' some July,
But Augus' fotches de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

When I was young I used to wait
On massa table and hand de plate
I'd pass de bottle when he dry,
Den brush away de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.


Den arter dinner massa sleeps,
He bid dis nigga vigils keeps;
An' when he gwine to shut his eye,
He tell me watch de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

When he ride in de arternoon,
I foller wid a hickory broom;
De pony being berry shy,
When bitten by de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

One day he rode aroun' de farm,
De flies so numerous did swarm,
One chance to bite 'im on de thigh,
De debil take de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

De pony run, he jump an' pitch,
An' tumbl'd massa in de ditch;
He died and de jury wondered why -

De verdick was de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

Dey laid him under a 'simmon tree,
His epitaph am dere to see:
Beneath this stone I'm forced to lie,
All by de means ob de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

Ole massa's gone, now let 'im rest,
Dey say all tings am for de best;
I neber shall forget till de day I die,
Ole massa an' dat blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.

De hornet gets in your eyes and nose,
De skeeter bite you troo your clothes;
De yalla nipper sweeten high,
But wusser yet de blue tail fly.
An' scratch 'um wid a briar too.


DE BLUE-TAIL FLY:
A NEGRO SONG
1846

When I was young I use' to wait on Massa an' hand him his plate,
An' pass de bottle when he got dry an' brush away de blue-tail fly.

Chorus (only in versions after 1848)
Jimmie crack corn an' I don't care; Jimmie crack corn an' I don't care;
Jimmie crack corn an' I don't care - Ol' Massa's gone away.

Den arter dinner massa sleep, he bid dis niggar vigil keep;
An' when he gwine to shut his eye, he tell me, "Watch de blue tail fly."

An' when he ride in de arternoon, I follow wid a hick'ry broom;
De pony, bein' berry shy when bitten by de bluetail fly.

One day he aroun' de farm, de flies so nummerous they did swarm ;
One chanced to bite him on de thigh - "De Debil take dat blue-tail fly!
"

De pony run, he jump, he pitch; he threw my Massa in de ditch;
He died an' de jury wondered why de verdict was de blue-tail fly.

They lay him under a ‘simmon tree, his epitaph is there to see -
"Beneath this stone I'm forced to lie - all by de means ob de bluetail fly.
"

Ole Massa gone, now let 'im rest; dey say all t'ings am for de best.
I nebber forget till de day I die, ole Massa an' dat blue tail fly.


BOB GRAY
To the tune of OLD DOG TRAY

My six months now are past, I'm out of jail at last;
It often makes me think of the once happy days
And jolly times I've seen, along with Josey Green,
Getting drunk at Old Bob Gray's.

Chorus
Old Joe Green was always with me,
The jolliest cove I've ever seen.
In one eye he was blind -
For a spree you'll never find
A better chum than old Joe Green.

Two coats I once did own,
They vanished one by one,
My hats and my boots, they have all passed away,
All up the spout they've flown,
And I and Joe have gone
To spend the "blunt" at old Bob Gray's.

When by his cell I passed,
His eyes were on me cast,
I knew very well what he would like to say.
They wouldn't let him speak,
But he'll be out next week,
Then we'll get drunk at old Bob Gray's.

BOOKSELLERS & STATIONERS, 146 Baltimore Street--Wholesale Ag'ts for Baltimore. Sold by
JOHN L. ZIEBER, Publisher. S. E. corner 4th & Vine, Phila. G. S. Harris, Printer, 4th & Vine.


BOBTAILED NAG
See CAMPTOWN RACES


THE BONNIE BLUE FLAG:
A SOUTHERN PATRIOTIC SONG

Words & Music By Harry Macarthy
1861

We are a band of brothers and native to the soil,
Fighting for our liberty with treasure, blood and toil;
And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far:
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!

Chorus
Hurrah! Hurrah! For Southern rights, hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.

Hurrah! Hurrah! For Southern rights, hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.

As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,
Like friends and brethren, kind were we, and just;
But now, when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar,
We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.

First gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;
Then came Alabama and took her by the hand.
Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida
All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.

Ye men of valor gather round the banner of the right;
Texas and fair Louisiana join us in the fight.
Davis, our beloved President, and Stephens statesmen rare;
Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.

Now here's to brave Virginia, the old Dominion State,
With the young Confederacy at length has linked her fate;
And spurred by her example, now other states prepare
To hoist high the bonny blue flag that bears a single star.

Then cheer, boys, cheer, raise the joyous shout
For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out.

And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given:
The single star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be eleven.

Then here's to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave;
Like patriots of old, we'll fight our heritage to save.
And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer,
So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.


The Bonnie White Flag That Bears
The Crimson Square;
OR,
The Song Of The Confederate Signal Corps
To the tune of THE IRISH JAUNTING CAR

There is a flag as yet unsung, a banner bright and fair;
It moves in waves of right and left, that banner in the air.
The wise may look, the scholar con, the wondering urchin stare,
But naught can make of the Bonnie White Flag that bears the crimson qquare.

Chorus
Hurrah! Hurrah! For the Signal Corps, Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the Bonnie White Flag that bears the crimson square.

To comrades true, far, far away who watch with anxious eye,
These secret signs an import bear when waved against the sky.
As quick as thought, as swift as light, those airy symbols there,
Are caught and read from The Bonnie White Flag That Bears The Crimson Square.

When armed hosts in serried ranks sweep forward to the fray,
The signal flag is waving there to point the victorious way;
From hill to hill, from crag to crag, the winged words to bear
That gave a name to the Bonnie White Flag that bears the crimson square.

When night draws o'er the wearied earth her cloak of sable hue,
And bids us dream of home and friends, the soldiers staunch and true,
'Tis then the torch that's burning bright tells by its meteor glare
That we're on watch with the Bonnie White Flag that bears the crimson square.

Then let us hope when war is o'er and great, and good, and free,
We stand and boast ourselves with truth a model confederacy,
That midst war's recollections oft we too may claim a share,
As we fondly think of the Bonnie White Flag that bears the crimson square.


Bound For The Promised Land

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.

Chorus
I am bound for the promised land,
I am bound for the promised land
O who will come and go with me
I am bound for the promised land.

O the transporting rapt'rous scene
That rises to my sight;
Sweet fields arrayed in living green
And rivers of Delight.

There generous fruits that never fail
On trees immortal grow;
There rocks and hills and brooks and vales

With milk and honey flow.

Soon will the Lord my soul prepare
For joys beyond the skies,
Where never-ceasing pleasures roll,
And praises never die.

Waves of religious revival occurred in the 1800's in America. BOUND FOR THE PROMISED LAND echoes the optimism of the pioneers who traveled West. The tune was composed in 1835 by M. Durham. The lyrics were written by Samuel Stennett in 1787.


Bounty Jumper's Lament
To the tune of TRAMP! TRAMP! TRAMP!

In my prison cell I stand, thinking of you, Mary Ann,
And the gay old times we've had in days before,
When my sock was lined with tin, and I thought it was no sin
For to jump a bounty every week or more.

Chorus
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the guard is coming,
Even now I hear them at my door;
So goodbye, my Mary Ann, you must do the best you can,
For I'll never jump a bounty any more.

Oh, the gay old days and nights, that we passed in fond delights
When my pockets they were brimming full of cash;
And with oysters, cake and wine, we had such a bully time,
But I'm satisfied in dreaming now of hash.

Oh, goodbye, my Mary Ann, I am now an altered man,
And I'm going away from you I love so well;
Tell the boys to all "look out," and to mind what they're about,
Or the provost guard will get them sure as you're born.




America's Shrine To Music Museum
Exhibit Of Civil War Instruments


THE BRASS MOUNTED ARMY
Unknown

Oh, soldiers I've concluded to make a little song,
And if I tell no falsehood there can be nothing wrong;
If any be offended at what I have to sing,
Then surely his own conscience applies the bitter sting.

Chorus
Oh, how do you like the army,
The brass mounted army,
The high falutin' army,
Where eagle buttons rule?

Whiskey is a monster, and ruins great and small,
But in our noble army, Headquarters gets it all;
They drink it when there's danger, although it seems too hard,
But if a private touches it they put him "under guard.
"

And when we meet the ladies, we're bound to go it sly,
Headquarters are the pudding, and the privates are the pie!
They issue Standing Orders to keep us all in line,
For if we had a showing, the brass would fail to shine.

At every big plantation or Negro-holder's yard,
Just to save the property, the general puts a guard;
Then sentry's then instructed to let no private pass,
The rich man's house and table are fixed to suit the "brass."

I have to change this story, so beautiful and true,
But the poor man and widow must have a line or two;
For them no guard is stationed, their fences oft are burned,
And property molested, as long ago you've learned.

The army's much richer than when the war begun,
It furnishes three tables where once it had but one;
The first richly loaded with chickens, goose, and duck,
The rest with pork and mutton, the third with good old buck.


Our generals eat the poultry, and buy it very cheap,
Our colonels and our majors devour the hog and sheep;
The privates are contented (except when they can steal),
With beef and corn bread plenty to make a hearty meal.

Sometimes we get so hungry that we're bound to press a pig,
Then the latest stump in Dixie we're sure to have to dig;
And when we fret, an officer who wears long-legged boots,
With neither judge nor jury, puts us on "double roots.
"

These things, and many others, are truly hard to me,
But still I'll be contented, and fight for Liberty!
And when the war is over, oh, what a jolly time!
We'll be our own commanders and sing much sweeter rhymes.

We'll see our loving sweethearts, and sometimes kiss them too,
We'll eat the finest rations, and bid old buck adieu;
There'll be no generals with orders to compel,
Long boots and eagle buttons, forever fare ye well!

Final Chorus
And thus we'll leave the army, the brass-mounted army,
The high-falutin' army, where eagle buttons rule!


BRETHREN, WE HAVE MET TO WORSHIP

Words By George Atkins
Music By William Moore
1825

Brethren, we have met to worship and adore the Lord our God;
Will you pray with all your power, while we try to preach the Word?
All is vain unless the Spirit of the Holy One comes down;
Brethren, pray, and holy manna will be showered all around.

Brethren, see poor sinners round you slumbering on the brink of woe;
Death is coming, hell is moving - can you bear to let them go?
See our fathers and our mothers, and our children sinking down;
Brethren, pray and holy manna will be showered all around.

Sisters, will you join and help us? Moses' sister aided him;
Will you help the trembling mourners who are struggling hard with sin?
Tell them all about the Savior, tell them that He will be found;
Sisters, pray, and holy manna will be showered all around.

Is there a trembling jailer, seeking grace, and filled with tears?
Is there here a weeping Mary, pouring forth a flood of tears?
Brethren, join your cries to help them; sisters, let your prayers abound;
Pray, Oh pray that holy manna may be scattered all around.

Let us love our God supremely, let us love each other, too;
Let us love and pray for sinners, till our God makes all things new.
Then He'll call us home to heaven, at His table we'll sit down;
Christ will gird Himself and serve us with sweet manna all around.


BRIDGET O'MALLEY

Or,
BRID OG NI MHAILLE
Unknown
Traditional Irish Ballad

O, Bridget O'Malley, you've left my heart shaken
With a hopeless desolation I'd have you to know.
It's the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken,
And your beauty will haunt me wherever I go.

The white moon above the pale sands, the pale stars above the
thorn tree
Are cold beside my darling, but no purer than she;
I gaze upon the cold moon till the stars drown in the warm seas,
And the bright eyes of my darling are never on me.

My Sunday, it is weary; my Sunday, it is gray now;
My heart is a cold thing, my heart is a stone.
All joy is dead within me, my life has gone away now,
For another has taken my love for his own.

The day is approaching when we were to be married,
And it's rather I would die than live only to grieve.
Oh, meet me, my darling, e'er the sun sets o'er the barley,
And I'll meet you there on the road to Drumslieve.

Oh, Bridget O'Malley, you have my heart taken
With a hopeless desolation I'd have you to know.
It's the wonders of admiration your quiet face has taken,
And your beauty will haunt me wherever I go.


BRIDGET O'MALLEY
A Second Version

Bridget O'Malley has my poor heart taken;
I write in desolation, I'll have you for to know,
For I'm bound for transportation, leaving my home and nation,
And your beauty will haunt me wherever I go.

As we walked upon the heather and we gazed at the night skies,
Your hand held in mine, our hearts beating as one,
Our love - it seemed as certain as day follows nightfall;
How cruel a misfortune we soon would behold.

You promised that you loved me and you never would leave me;
I promised you riches and of all things the best.
But your love, it proved a jewel of aspect quite cruel,
And you left me for another - now my heart knows no rest.

For a love without a reason is as winter out of season;
The swollen heart lies broken, and passion turns to hate.
My love - now unrequited - my heart's been slighted;
From that very moment, my kiss sealed your fate.

But the cold ground, it now holds you, and I must bear my burden;
Time, it passes slowly, and the memory will not fade
Of a love, a love of passion that was once my possession.
In chains, I am condemned now, in sorrow and shame.

Bridget O'Malley has my poor heart taken.


Bright Canaan
Early American Folk Hymn

O who will come and go with me?
I am bound for the land of Canaan.
I'm bound fair Canaan's land to see,
I am bound for the land of Canaan.

I'll join with them who've gone before,
I am bound for the land of Canaan.
Where sin and sorrow are no more,
I am bound for the land of Canaan.

Oh, Canaan; bright Canaan!
I'm bound for the land of Canaan,
Oh, Canaan, it is my happy home,
I am bound for the land of Canaan.

http://jefferson.village.virginia.edu/utc/christn/canaanfr.html


The Bright Hills of Glory

Stephen Collins Foster

To the fair shores of Eden,
My soul longs to fly;
And to drink from the fountain
That never runs dry;
Where the angels are singing
The same precious story;
That will ever resound
Through the bright hills of glory

Chorus
O take me my Saviour,
To join the happy song,
In the bright hills of glory,
Where the angels belong,
O take me my Saviour,
To join the happy song,
In the bright hills of glory,
Where the angels belong.

Oh! what visions of beauty
Will burst on my sight;
As I enter the mansions
Of heavenly delight;
How the loved ones will greet me
From life's troubled story,
And will welcome me home
To the bright hills of glory!

Pray tell me ye watchman
Who stand at the gate,
How long must I linger
In sorrow - and wait?
When I hear the sweet angels
Rehearsing the story,
And my spirit is longing
For the bright hills of glory!

(published by Horace Waters, N.Y., 1863)


Bring My Brother Back To Me
Words By George Cooper
Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1863

Bring my brother back to me
When this war is done;
Give us all the joys we shar'd
Ere it had begun.
O bring my brother back to me,
Never more to stray.
This is all my earnest prayer,
Thro' the weary day.

Chorus
Bring him back! bring him back!
With his smiling healthful glee,
Bring him back! bring him back!
Bring my brother back to me.

All the house is lonely now,
And my voice no more
In the pleasant summer eves
Greets him at the door.

Never more I hear his step
By the garden gate,
While I sit in anxious tears
Knowing not his fate.

Bring my brother back to me
From the battle strife,
Thou who watchest o'er the good
Shield his precious life.
When this war has passed away,
Safe from all alarms,
Bring my brother home again,
To my longing arms. 


THE BROGUE

Words By James Kiernan
1856

When I came to this country 'twas late in the fall,
Both Cart and Hack-Drivers around me did bawl;
From one to the other they pushed me about,
Saying, "That brogue on his tongue will never wear out.
"

One chap seized me box and was off in a twack,
I shouted and holloa'd for him to come back;
Says one of the Blackguards, "He'll come back no doubt,
But that brogue on you tongue, it will never wear out.
"

He ran like the devil up a dirty dark lane;
Says I, "Where's me box, sir, or what de ye mane?"
He stuck up this thumb on the top of his snout,
Saying, "That brogue on your tongue shure will never wear out.
"

I catched him at last goin' into a store,
And he stap'd down me box on the middle of the floor,
Saying, "You bog-trottin' spalpeen, you'd better clear out,

For that brogue on your tongue, it will never wear out."

I took up me box and made for the street,
When one of the chaps there said I must treat;
The juice of tobaky in me eye he did scout,
Saying, "The brogue on your tongue shure will never wear out.
"

When I got from their clutches I went to the dock
And enquired of a man for one Peter O'Rock;
He told me not long since he died with the gout,
But the brogue on his faith, it never wore out.

Next I enquired for Mistur Darby McCreeth -
I was told to dry up, that I'd hair on my teeth!
If I didn't move quick, faith, I'd soon get a clout,
For the brogue on my tongue, it will never wear out.

But Darby I found out - he lives near the tombs -
He makes a good living by hawking round brooms;

But his wife took to drinking - they ne'er had a sprout,
And the brogue on their throth will never wear out.

Och! now I'm a voter, but don't vote for rogues,
And with Patint Lethurs replaced me ould Brogues,
But all the young ladies, when I squeeze them. they shout,
"Oh, that brogue on your tongue, shure will never wear out.
"

Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St. N.Y.


Bull Dog An' De baby
Composed and sung nightly
With thunders of applause,
By Old Dan Emmit
At White's Melodeon, 53 Bowery, N.Y.

I'm gwine to sing de song what I fotch from Warginny, 
Whar de white folks am fat, an' de niggers as fat as any, 
I fotch along de banjo to help me wid de fusick, 
Den lay back, an' stay back, an' listen to de musick.

Chorus
Jump up, Jinny, dance like a lady, 
Nobody home, but de bull-dog an' baby.

I wrote a letter to my lub, (to hab it go de safer,) 
Could'nt trust de sealing-wax - I'd tink I'd try de wafer, 
I wet it in my mouth, den put it on de letter, 
Den squash it wid my heel for to make it stick de better.

My lub, she dresses neat, an' appears "high-fi-lutin," 
Oh, dat am a fack, what dar am no disputin'; 
She's brack as a crow, an' as fat as a grunter, 
Wid de debble in her head, all accordin' to gunter.

We went to de ball, an' dey took me for a joker, 
In come de "M. P." an' hit me wid de poker, 
I butt him in de head, den you orter hear him holler, 
He seen de bigger "stars" dan dar was upon his collar.

We went to de museum, 'twas ten o'clock or later, 
De frog spoke de French to him brudder alligator; 
Dey had a happy family - de woodchuck an' de parrot, 
To cotch all de green horn's away up in de garret.

I wish I was a hoss, and harnessed to de wagon, 
All loaded down wid apple-jack, so I could hardly drag 'um; 
I'd drink it all at once, jes to show de coler'd gemmens, 
Dat's de way to do it, when you're gwine to "go in lemmons."

I went up town for to see de Crystal Pallus, 
Dey would'nt let me in dar, bekaze I look'd so gallus; 
I'm 'pointed a commissioner from eb'ry colored nation, 
An' a "special backer sign" from de state ob "Galbinsation."

I'de like to take de cars, for to hab a ride upon it, 
Den, agin, I wish dat--suppose I had'nt done it: 
I'de lay back my head, let de day be fair or lowry, 
Jis like de melishy, when dey're comin' down de Bowery.

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



Home