Oh! did you ne’er hear of Kate Kearney?She lives on the banks of Killarney:From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly,For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.For that eye is so modestly beaming,You ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming;Yet, oh! I can tell, how fatal’s the spell,That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.O should you e’er meet this Kate Kearnev,Who lives on the bank of Killarney,Beware of her smile, for many a wileLies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,Yet there’s mischief in every dimple;And who dares inhale her sigh’s spicy gale,Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.
Oh! did you ne’er hear of Kate Kearney?She lives on the banks of Killarney:From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly,For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.For that eye is so modestly beaming,You ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming;Yet, oh! I can tell, how fatal’s the spell,That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.
O should you e’er meet this Kate Kearnev,Who lives on the bank of Killarney,Beware of her smile, for many a wileLies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,Yet there’s mischief in every dimple;And who dares inhale her sigh’s spicy gale,Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.
Oh, yes, I have seen this Kate Kearney,Who lives near the lake of Killarney;From her love-beaming eye, what mortal can fly,Unsubdued by the glance of Kate Kearney?For that eye so seducingly meaning,Assures me of mischief she’s dreaming;And I feel ’tis in vain to fly from the chainThat binds me to lovely Kate Kearney.At eve when I’ve met this Kate Kearney,On the flower-mantled banks of Killarney,Her smile would impart thrilling joy to my heart,As I gaz’d on the charming Kate Kearney.On the banks of Killarney reclining,My bosom to rapture resigning,I’ve felt the keen smart of love’s fatal dart,And inhal’d the warm sigh of Kate Kearney.
Oh, yes, I have seen this Kate Kearney,Who lives near the lake of Killarney;From her love-beaming eye, what mortal can fly,Unsubdued by the glance of Kate Kearney?For that eye so seducingly meaning,Assures me of mischief she’s dreaming;And I feel ’tis in vain to fly from the chainThat binds me to lovely Kate Kearney.
At eve when I’ve met this Kate Kearney,On the flower-mantled banks of Killarney,Her smile would impart thrilling joy to my heart,As I gaz’d on the charming Kate Kearney.On the banks of Killarney reclining,My bosom to rapture resigning,I’ve felt the keen smart of love’s fatal dart,And inhal’d the warm sigh of Kate Kearney.
Home again, home again,From a foreign shore;And, oh, it fills my soul with joy,To meet my friends once moreHere I dropp’d the parting tear,To cross the ocean’s foam;But now I’m once again with thoseWho kindly greet me home.Home again, &c.Happy hearts, happy hearts,With mine have laugh’d in glee,But, oh, the friends I loved in youthSeem happier to me.And if my guide should be the fateWhich bids me longer roam,But death alone can break the tieThat binds my heart to homeHome again, &c.Music sweet, music soft,Lingers round the place;And, oh, I feel the childhood charm,That time can not afface.Then give me but my homestead roof,I’ll ask no palace dome;For I can live a happy lifeWith those I love at home.Home again, &c.
Home again, home again,From a foreign shore;And, oh, it fills my soul with joy,To meet my friends once moreHere I dropp’d the parting tear,To cross the ocean’s foam;But now I’m once again with thoseWho kindly greet me home.
Home again, &c.
Happy hearts, happy hearts,With mine have laugh’d in glee,But, oh, the friends I loved in youthSeem happier to me.And if my guide should be the fateWhich bids me longer roam,But death alone can break the tieThat binds my heart to home
Home again, &c.
Music sweet, music soft,Lingers round the place;And, oh, I feel the childhood charm,That time can not afface.Then give me but my homestead roof,I’ll ask no palace dome;For I can live a happy lifeWith those I love at home.
Home again, &c.
My heart is sad, I’ll tell you why,If you’ll listen to my lay,Which makes me weep, when I singOf my gentle Jennie Gray;But I never can forget the days,When with Jennie by my side,We talk’d of love and happiness,When she should be my bride.Chorus.—Hush the banjo, toll the bell,I’m very sad to-day,I can not work, so let me weep,For my gentle Jennie Gray.My Jennie had the sweetest face,And eyes of sparkling jet,With lips like new-born roses,She was my darling pet;But Death he called one morning,And took my love away,And left me lonely weeping,For my gentle Jennie Gray.Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.And in the ground they laid her,Close by my cabin door;A rude stone marks the spot,Where she sleeps to wake no more;While at her grave I’m weeping,At every close of day,I fancy then, she’s sleeping,And not dead! my Jennie Gray.Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.
My heart is sad, I’ll tell you why,If you’ll listen to my lay,Which makes me weep, when I singOf my gentle Jennie Gray;But I never can forget the days,When with Jennie by my side,We talk’d of love and happiness,When she should be my bride.
Chorus.—Hush the banjo, toll the bell,I’m very sad to-day,I can not work, so let me weep,For my gentle Jennie Gray.
My Jennie had the sweetest face,And eyes of sparkling jet,With lips like new-born roses,She was my darling pet;But Death he called one morning,And took my love away,And left me lonely weeping,For my gentle Jennie Gray.
Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.
And in the ground they laid her,Close by my cabin door;A rude stone marks the spot,Where she sleeps to wake no more;While at her grave I’m weeping,At every close of day,I fancy then, she’s sleeping,And not dead! my Jennie Gray.
Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.
Copied by permission ofRussell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.
The flowers I saw in the wild wood,Have since dropp’d their beautiful leaves,And the many dear friends of my childhood,Have slumber’d for years in their graves;But the bloom of the flowers I remember,Though their smiles I shall never more see,For the cold, chilly winds of DecemberStole my flowers, my companions, from me.The roses may bloom on the morrow,And many dear friends I have won,But my heart can part with but sorrow,When I think of the ones that are gone.’Tis no wonder that I am broken-heart’dAnd stricken with sorrow should be,For we have met, we have loved, we have part’d,My flowers, my companions, and me.How dark looks this world, and how dreary,When we part from the ones that we love,But there’s rest for the faint and the weary,And friends meet with lost ones above;But in heaven I can but remember,When from earth my proud soul shall be free,That no chilly winds of December,Shall steal my companions from me.
The flowers I saw in the wild wood,Have since dropp’d their beautiful leaves,And the many dear friends of my childhood,Have slumber’d for years in their graves;But the bloom of the flowers I remember,Though their smiles I shall never more see,For the cold, chilly winds of DecemberStole my flowers, my companions, from me.
The roses may bloom on the morrow,And many dear friends I have won,But my heart can part with but sorrow,When I think of the ones that are gone.’Tis no wonder that I am broken-heart’dAnd stricken with sorrow should be,For we have met, we have loved, we have part’d,My flowers, my companions, and me.
How dark looks this world, and how dreary,When we part from the ones that we love,But there’s rest for the faint and the weary,And friends meet with lost ones above;But in heaven I can but remember,When from earth my proud soul shall be free,That no chilly winds of December,Shall steal my companions from me.
Listen awhile and give ear to my songConcerning these hard times, ’twill not take you long,How every one tries each other to bite,And in cheating each other they think they do right.Nothing but hard times.There are some young men, which you very well know,To see pretty girls they are sure to go;The old folks will giggle, they will laugh, and they’ll grin,Crying, “Use him well, Sal, or he’ll not come again.”The baker will cheat you in the bread that you eat,And so will the butcher, in the weight of his meat;He’ll tip up the steelyards, and make them go down,And swears it is weight, when it lacks a half pound.The next are the ladies, the sweet little dears,At the balls and the parties, how nice they appear;With whalebones and corsets themselves they will squeeze,You have to unlace them before they can sneeze.Next is the tinker, he’ll mend all your ware,For little or nothing, some ale or some beer;But before he begins, he’ll get half drunk or more,And in stopping one hole, why he’ll punch twenty more.The judge on his bench, so honest and true,He’ll stare at a man, as though he’d look him through;He’ll send him a year or six months to the jail,And for five dollars more, why he’ll go your bail.Then next is the doctor, he’ll cure all your ills,With his puffs and his powders, his syrups, and squills,He’ll give you a dose that will make you grow fat,Or some pills that will leave you but your boots and your hat.The ladies must all have their silks and their laces,And things they call bonnets, to show off their faces;But their figure, however, can never be seen,For they are hoop’d like a barrel, with French crinoline.The last is the sheriff, who thinks himself wise,He’ll come to your house with a big pack of lies;He’ll take all your property that he can sell,And get drunk on the money, that’s doing right well,In these hard times.
Listen awhile and give ear to my songConcerning these hard times, ’twill not take you long,How every one tries each other to bite,And in cheating each other they think they do right.Nothing but hard times.
There are some young men, which you very well know,To see pretty girls they are sure to go;The old folks will giggle, they will laugh, and they’ll grin,Crying, “Use him well, Sal, or he’ll not come again.”
The baker will cheat you in the bread that you eat,And so will the butcher, in the weight of his meat;He’ll tip up the steelyards, and make them go down,And swears it is weight, when it lacks a half pound.
The next are the ladies, the sweet little dears,At the balls and the parties, how nice they appear;With whalebones and corsets themselves they will squeeze,You have to unlace them before they can sneeze.
Next is the tinker, he’ll mend all your ware,For little or nothing, some ale or some beer;But before he begins, he’ll get half drunk or more,And in stopping one hole, why he’ll punch twenty more.
The judge on his bench, so honest and true,He’ll stare at a man, as though he’d look him through;He’ll send him a year or six months to the jail,And for five dollars more, why he’ll go your bail.
Then next is the doctor, he’ll cure all your ills,With his puffs and his powders, his syrups, and squills,He’ll give you a dose that will make you grow fat,Or some pills that will leave you but your boots and your hat.
The ladies must all have their silks and their laces,And things they call bonnets, to show off their faces;But their figure, however, can never be seen,For they are hoop’d like a barrel, with French crinoline.
The last is the sheriff, who thinks himself wise,He’ll come to your house with a big pack of lies;He’ll take all your property that he can sell,And get drunk on the money, that’s doing right well,In these hard times.
Copied by permission ofPeters & Sons, Fourth St., Cincinnati O owners of the copyright.
Don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?Sweet Alice, with hair so brown,Who blush’d with delight if you gave her a smile,And trembled with fear at your frown?In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,In a corner obscure and lone,They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,And Alice lies under the stone.Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,That stood at the foot of the hill,Together we’ve lain in the noonday shade,And listen’d to Appleton’s mill.The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,The rafters have tumbled in,And a quiet that crawls round the wall as you gaze,Takes the place of the olden din.Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,That stood in the pathless wood?And the button-ball tree with its motley boughs,That nigh by the door-step stood?The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,You would look for the tree in vain;And where once the lords of the forest stood,Grows grass and the golden grain.And don’t you remember the school, Ben Bolt,And the master, so cruel and grim?And the shady nook in the running brook,Where the children went to swim?Grass grows on the master’s grave, Ben Bolt—The spring of the brook is dry;And of all the boys who were school-mates thenThere are only you and I!There’s a change in the things I love, Ben Bolt?They have changed from the old to the new;But I feel in the core of my spirit the truth,There never was a change in you.Twelvemonths twenty have pass’d, Ben Bolt,Since first we were friends, yet I hailThy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale!
Don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?Sweet Alice, with hair so brown,Who blush’d with delight if you gave her a smile,And trembled with fear at your frown?In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,In a corner obscure and lone,They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,And Alice lies under the stone.
Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,That stood at the foot of the hill,Together we’ve lain in the noonday shade,And listen’d to Appleton’s mill.The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,The rafters have tumbled in,And a quiet that crawls round the wall as you gaze,Takes the place of the olden din.
Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,That stood in the pathless wood?And the button-ball tree with its motley boughs,That nigh by the door-step stood?The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,You would look for the tree in vain;And where once the lords of the forest stood,Grows grass and the golden grain.
And don’t you remember the school, Ben Bolt,And the master, so cruel and grim?And the shady nook in the running brook,Where the children went to swim?Grass grows on the master’s grave, Ben Bolt—The spring of the brook is dry;And of all the boys who were school-mates thenThere are only you and I!
There’s a change in the things I love, Ben Bolt?They have changed from the old to the new;But I feel in the core of my spirit the truth,There never was a change in you.Twelvemonths twenty have pass’d, Ben Bolt,Since first we were friends, yet I hailThy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale!
Copied by permission ofRussell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.
Pearl River’s side is far away, in Mississippi State,Where our Old Cabin stands alone, with Juney at the gate;I told her I was going away, but would not stay out late,And so she thought I’d soon be home, and waited at the gate.CHORUSThe Cabin stands upon the stream in Mississippi State,And I must quickly hurry home and take her from the gate.Old Massa died, and I was sold away to Georgia’s State,They did not buy my sister Jane when they bought me her mate,I could not tell her we must part, alas! our cruel fate,And so, with weeping eyes, she stands to meet me at the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.I can’t forget her gloomy look, when I bid her good-night,Nor how my body quaked and shook as slow I left her sight;But soon I’ll gold and silver get, pray Heaven I’m not too late,To buy my darling Juney free and take her from the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.Oh, Juney was a simple child, with pretty shining curls,And white folks loved her best of all, the young Mulatto girl,’Twas wrong for me to leave her ’lone, in Mississippi State,But money it shall break the chain that binds her to the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.If you go away down South, to Mississippi State,Don’t fail to seek our Cabin there, with Juney at the gate;Tell her to wait a little while, tell her in hope to wait,For I am he shall make her free, and take her from the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.
Pearl River’s side is far away, in Mississippi State,Where our Old Cabin stands alone, with Juney at the gate;I told her I was going away, but would not stay out late,And so she thought I’d soon be home, and waited at the gate.
CHORUS
The Cabin stands upon the stream in Mississippi State,And I must quickly hurry home and take her from the gate.
Old Massa died, and I was sold away to Georgia’s State,They did not buy my sister Jane when they bought me her mate,I could not tell her we must part, alas! our cruel fate,And so, with weeping eyes, she stands to meet me at the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.
I can’t forget her gloomy look, when I bid her good-night,Nor how my body quaked and shook as slow I left her sight;But soon I’ll gold and silver get, pray Heaven I’m not too late,To buy my darling Juney free and take her from the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.
Oh, Juney was a simple child, with pretty shining curls,And white folks loved her best of all, the young Mulatto girl,’Twas wrong for me to leave her ’lone, in Mississippi State,But money it shall break the chain that binds her to the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.
If you go away down South, to Mississippi State,Don’t fail to seek our Cabin there, with Juney at the gate;Tell her to wait a little while, tell her in hope to wait,For I am he shall make her free, and take her from the gate.The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.
We heard his hammer all day longOn the anvil ring, and ring,But he always came when the sun went down,To sit on the gate and sing;His little hands so hard and brownCross’d idly on his knee,And straw-hat lopping over cheeksAs red as they could be.Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’dHis heart with a happy ring,And that was why, when the sun went down,He came to the gate to sing.His blue and faded jacket, trimm’dWith signs of work, his feetAll bare and fair upon the grass,He made a picture sweet.For still his shoes, with iron shod,On the smithy wall he hung,As forth he came, when the sun went down,And sat on the gate and sung.Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’d, &c.The whistling rustic tending cows,Would keep in pastures near,And half the busy villagersLean from their doors to hear.And from the time the robin cameAnd made the hedges bright,Until the stubble yellow grew,He never miss’d a night.Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, &c.
We heard his hammer all day longOn the anvil ring, and ring,But he always came when the sun went down,To sit on the gate and sing;His little hands so hard and brownCross’d idly on his knee,And straw-hat lopping over cheeksAs red as they could be.
Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’dHis heart with a happy ring,And that was why, when the sun went down,He came to the gate to sing.
His blue and faded jacket, trimm’dWith signs of work, his feetAll bare and fair upon the grass,He made a picture sweet.For still his shoes, with iron shod,On the smithy wall he hung,As forth he came, when the sun went down,And sat on the gate and sung.
Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’d, &c.
The whistling rustic tending cows,Would keep in pastures near,And half the busy villagersLean from their doors to hear.And from the time the robin cameAnd made the hedges bright,Until the stubble yellow grew,He never miss’d a night.
Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, &c.
Over the mountain wave,See where they come;Storm cloud and wintry windWelcome them home;Yet where the sounding galeHowls to the sea,There their song peals alongDeep-toned and free.Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers.Hither we come;Where the free dare to be,This is our home.England hath sunny dales,Dearly they bloom;Scotia hath heather hills,Sweet their perfume;Yet through the wildernessCheerful we stray,Native land, native land,Home far away!Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.Dim grew the forest path,Onward they trod;Firm beat their noble hearts,Trusting in God;Gray men and blooming maids,High rose their song,Hear it sweep clear and deep,Ever along.Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.Not theirs the glory wreathTorn by the blast;Heavenward their holy steps,Heavenward they pass’d;Green be their mossy graves,Ours be their fame,While their song peals alongEver the same.Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.
Over the mountain wave,See where they come;Storm cloud and wintry windWelcome them home;Yet where the sounding galeHowls to the sea,There their song peals alongDeep-toned and free.
Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers.Hither we come;Where the free dare to be,This is our home.
England hath sunny dales,Dearly they bloom;Scotia hath heather hills,Sweet their perfume;Yet through the wildernessCheerful we stray,Native land, native land,Home far away!
Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.
Dim grew the forest path,Onward they trod;Firm beat their noble hearts,Trusting in God;Gray men and blooming maids,High rose their song,Hear it sweep clear and deep,Ever along.
Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.
Not theirs the glory wreathTorn by the blast;Heavenward their holy steps,Heavenward they pass’d;Green be their mossy graves,Ours be their fame,While their song peals alongEver the same.
Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.
Row! row! homeward we steer,Twilight falls o’er us,Hark! hark! music is near,Friends glide before us,Song lightens our labor,Sing as onward we go,Keep each with his neighborTime as we flow.Chorus.—Row! row! homeward we go,Twilight falls o’er us,Row! row! sing as we flow,Day flies before us.Row! row! sing as we go,Nature rejoices;Hark! how the hills as we flowEcho our voices;Still o’er the dark watersFar away we must roam,Ere Italy’s daughtersWelcome us home.Chorus.—Row! row, &c.Row! row! see in the westLights dimly burning,Friends in yon harbor of restWait our returning;See now they burn clearer,—Keep time with the oar;Now, now we are nearerThat happy shore.Chorus.—Row! row, &c.Home, home, daylight is o’er,Friends stand before us;Yet ere our boat touch the shore,Once more the chorus.Chorus.—Row! row, &c.
Row! row! homeward we steer,Twilight falls o’er us,Hark! hark! music is near,Friends glide before us,Song lightens our labor,Sing as onward we go,Keep each with his neighborTime as we flow.
Chorus.—Row! row! homeward we go,Twilight falls o’er us,Row! row! sing as we flow,Day flies before us.
Row! row! sing as we go,Nature rejoices;Hark! how the hills as we flowEcho our voices;Still o’er the dark watersFar away we must roam,Ere Italy’s daughtersWelcome us home.
Chorus.—Row! row, &c.
Row! row! see in the westLights dimly burning,Friends in yon harbor of restWait our returning;See now they burn clearer,—Keep time with the oar;Now, now we are nearerThat happy shore.
Chorus.—Row! row, &c.
Home, home, daylight is o’er,Friends stand before us;Yet ere our boat touch the shore,Once more the chorus.
Chorus.—Row! row, &c.
There dwelt a miller hale and boldBeside the river Dee;He work’d and sang from morn till night,No lark more blithe than he;And this, the burden of his song,Forever used to be,“I envy nobody, no, not I,And nobody envies me.”“Thou’rt wrong my friend,” said old King Hal,“Thou’rt wrong as wrong can be;For could my heart be light as thine,I’d gladly change with thee;And tell me now what makes thee singWith voice so loud and free,While I am sad, though I am KingBeside the river Dee.”The miller smiled, and doff’d his cap,“I earn my bread,” quoth he“I love my wife, I love my friends,I love my children three;I owe no penny I can not pay,I thank the river Dee,That turns the mill, that grinds the cornTo feed my babes and me.”“Good friend,” said Hal, and sigh’d the while,“Farewell and happy be;But say no more, if thou’dst be true,That no one envies thee;Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,Thy mill my kingdom’s fee,Such men as thou are England’s boast,Oh, miller of the Dee.”
There dwelt a miller hale and boldBeside the river Dee;He work’d and sang from morn till night,No lark more blithe than he;And this, the burden of his song,Forever used to be,“I envy nobody, no, not I,And nobody envies me.”
“Thou’rt wrong my friend,” said old King Hal,“Thou’rt wrong as wrong can be;For could my heart be light as thine,I’d gladly change with thee;And tell me now what makes thee singWith voice so loud and free,While I am sad, though I am KingBeside the river Dee.”
The miller smiled, and doff’d his cap,“I earn my bread,” quoth he“I love my wife, I love my friends,I love my children three;I owe no penny I can not pay,I thank the river Dee,That turns the mill, that grinds the cornTo feed my babes and me.”
“Good friend,” said Hal, and sigh’d the while,“Farewell and happy be;But say no more, if thou’dst be true,That no one envies thee;Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,Thy mill my kingdom’s fee,Such men as thou are England’s boast,Oh, miller of the Dee.”
All’s for the best! be sanguine and cheerful;Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise,Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearing,Courage forever! is happy and wise.All’s for the best! if a man would but know it,Providence wishes that all may be blest,This is no dream of the pundit or poet,Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best!Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best.All’s for the best: set this on your standard,Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,Who to the shores of despair may have wander’dA way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove.All’s for the best! be a man, but confiding,Providence tenderly governs the rest,And the frail bark of his creature is guidingWisely and warily, all’s for the best!Chorus.—All’s for the best, &c,All’s for the best dispel idle terrors,Meet all your fears and your foes in the van,And in the midst of your dangers and errors,Trust like a child, and strive like a man.All’s for the best! unfailing, unbounded,Providence wishes that all may be blest,And both by wisdom and mercy surrounded,Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best!Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best.
All’s for the best! be sanguine and cheerful;Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise,Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearing,Courage forever! is happy and wise.All’s for the best! if a man would but know it,Providence wishes that all may be blest,This is no dream of the pundit or poet,Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best!
Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best.
All’s for the best: set this on your standard,Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,Who to the shores of despair may have wander’dA way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove.All’s for the best! be a man, but confiding,Providence tenderly governs the rest,And the frail bark of his creature is guidingWisely and warily, all’s for the best!
Chorus.—All’s for the best, &c,
All’s for the best dispel idle terrors,Meet all your fears and your foes in the van,And in the midst of your dangers and errors,Trust like a child, and strive like a man.All’s for the best! unfailing, unbounded,Providence wishes that all may be blest,And both by wisdom and mercy surrounded,Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best!
Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best.
Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let thy smiles be smiles of joy,Don’t be angry, mother, mother,Don’t be angry with thy boy.Years have flown since we have travers’dThe dark and stormy sea;Whilst your boy quite broken-heart’d,Ne’er has ceased to think of thee.Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let the world say what it will,Though I don’t deserve thy favor,Yet I fondly love thee still;We have lived and loved together,And our hearts ne’er knew a painBut forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.Pray, remember, mother, mother,I’ve been kneeling at thy feet,And I am dreaming of thee nightly,While reclining in my sleep;But forgive me, mother, mother,It will ease thy heart of pain,But forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.
Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let thy smiles be smiles of joy,Don’t be angry, mother, mother,Don’t be angry with thy boy.Years have flown since we have travers’dThe dark and stormy sea;Whilst your boy quite broken-heart’d,Ne’er has ceased to think of thee.
Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let the world say what it will,Though I don’t deserve thy favor,Yet I fondly love thee still;We have lived and loved together,And our hearts ne’er knew a painBut forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.
Pray, remember, mother, mother,I’ve been kneeling at thy feet,And I am dreaming of thee nightly,While reclining in my sleep;But forgive me, mother, mother,It will ease thy heart of pain,But forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.
I am not angry, dearest boy,No cloud is on my brow,Thou seest only smiles of joy,I am not angry now.A mother’s heart has yearn’d for thee,A mother’s tears have flown,A mother’s prayers been offer’d upTo the eternal throne:And though thou hast been wayward, boy,Misguided by thy will,A mother’s love is thine, my boyThou art my darling still.While thou wert on the rolling deep,Toss’d by the rugged sea,My only comfort was to weep—To weep and pray for thee.Over thy follies I have shed,Ah! many a bitter tear,And I have mourn’d for thee as deadThrough all the passing year;Yet I have pray’d that thou, my son,Might’st catch my latest breath,That thy dear hands, and thine alone,Might close my eyes in death.I do forgive thee now, my boy,It frees my heart from pain,My bosom throbs alone with joyTo see thy face again.Though thou hast wander’d far from me,I’ll yet forgive the past,For I am happy, boy, to seeThou hast return’d at last.Yes, now this heart is fill’d with joy,My sororws are all o’er,For thou art here again, my boy,And we shall part no more.
I am not angry, dearest boy,No cloud is on my brow,Thou seest only smiles of joy,I am not angry now.A mother’s heart has yearn’d for thee,A mother’s tears have flown,A mother’s prayers been offer’d upTo the eternal throne:And though thou hast been wayward, boy,Misguided by thy will,A mother’s love is thine, my boyThou art my darling still.
While thou wert on the rolling deep,Toss’d by the rugged sea,My only comfort was to weep—To weep and pray for thee.Over thy follies I have shed,Ah! many a bitter tear,And I have mourn’d for thee as deadThrough all the passing year;Yet I have pray’d that thou, my son,Might’st catch my latest breath,That thy dear hands, and thine alone,Might close my eyes in death.
I do forgive thee now, my boy,It frees my heart from pain,My bosom throbs alone with joyTo see thy face again.Though thou hast wander’d far from me,I’ll yet forgive the past,For I am happy, boy, to seeThou hast return’d at last.Yes, now this heart is fill’d with joy,My sororws are all o’er,For thou art here again, my boy,And we shall part no more.
I long, how I long for my home in Kentuck,With its fields where I labor’d, so green,Where the possum and the coon, and the juicy wild duck,And the ’bacco so prime, I have seen:There I’ve fish’d from the banks of the Masella creek,And oft, in the shades of the night,Have I watch’d with my gun, nigh the old Salt Lick,For the game as it come to my sight.Chorus.—There is my old cabin home,There are my sisters and brother,There is my wife, joy of my life,My child, and the grave of my mother.That hut, my dear home, my log-cabin home,With the bench that I stood at the door,Where weary at night, from my work I would comeAnd there rest, ere I stepp’d on its floor.The calabash vine, that then clung to its walls,Oh! ’tis dear in my memory still to me,And my master, who lives in his own handsome halls,Not so happy as then I could be.Chorus.—There is my old cabin home, &c.But that cabin is far, far away from me now,I am far from the scenes that I love,Far away from that wife who once heard me vowThat forever I faithful would prove—My friends are still there, and still there is my child,And still there, all in life, I must crave—Still there is that mound, with its flowers so wild,That covers my old mother’s grave,Chorus.—There is my old cabin home, &c.
I long, how I long for my home in Kentuck,With its fields where I labor’d, so green,Where the possum and the coon, and the juicy wild duck,And the ’bacco so prime, I have seen:There I’ve fish’d from the banks of the Masella creek,And oft, in the shades of the night,Have I watch’d with my gun, nigh the old Salt Lick,For the game as it come to my sight.
Chorus.—There is my old cabin home,There are my sisters and brother,There is my wife, joy of my life,My child, and the grave of my mother.
That hut, my dear home, my log-cabin home,With the bench that I stood at the door,Where weary at night, from my work I would comeAnd there rest, ere I stepp’d on its floor.The calabash vine, that then clung to its walls,Oh! ’tis dear in my memory still to me,And my master, who lives in his own handsome halls,Not so happy as then I could be.
Chorus.—There is my old cabin home, &c.
But that cabin is far, far away from me now,I am far from the scenes that I love,Far away from that wife who once heard me vowThat forever I faithful would prove—My friends are still there, and still there is my child,And still there, all in life, I must crave—Still there is that mound, with its flowers so wild,That covers my old mother’s grave,
Chorus.—There is my old cabin home, &c.
Do they miss me at home, do they miss me!’Twould be an assurance most dear,To know that this moment some loved one,Were saying I wish he was here,To feel that the group at the firesideWere thinking of me as I roam,Oh, yes, ’twould be joy beyond measureTo know that they miss’d me at home,To know that they miss’d me at home.When twilight approaches, the seasonThat ever is sacred to song,Does some one repeat my name over,And sigh that I tarry so long?And is there a chord in the musicThat’s miss’d when my voice is away,And a chord in each heart that awakethRegret at my wearisome stay,Regret at my wearisome stay.Do they sit me a chair near the table,When evening’s home pleasures are nigh,When the candles are lit in the parlor,And the stars in the calm azure sky?And when the “good-nights” are repeated,And all lay them down to their sleep,Do they think of the absent, and waft meA whisper’d “good-night” while they weep,A whisper’d “good-night” while they weep?Do they miss me at home—do they miss meAt morning, at noon, or at night?And lingers one gloomy shade round themThat only my presence can light?Are joys less invitingly welcome,And pleasures less hale than before,Because one is miss’d from the circle,Because I am with them no more,Because I am with them no more!
Do they miss me at home, do they miss me!’Twould be an assurance most dear,To know that this moment some loved one,Were saying I wish he was here,To feel that the group at the firesideWere thinking of me as I roam,Oh, yes, ’twould be joy beyond measureTo know that they miss’d me at home,To know that they miss’d me at home.
When twilight approaches, the seasonThat ever is sacred to song,Does some one repeat my name over,And sigh that I tarry so long?And is there a chord in the musicThat’s miss’d when my voice is away,And a chord in each heart that awakethRegret at my wearisome stay,Regret at my wearisome stay.
Do they sit me a chair near the table,When evening’s home pleasures are nigh,When the candles are lit in the parlor,And the stars in the calm azure sky?And when the “good-nights” are repeated,And all lay them down to their sleep,Do they think of the absent, and waft meA whisper’d “good-night” while they weep,A whisper’d “good-night” while they weep?
Do they miss me at home—do they miss meAt morning, at noon, or at night?And lingers one gloomy shade round themThat only my presence can light?Are joys less invitingly welcome,And pleasures less hale than before,Because one is miss’d from the circle,Because I am with them no more,Because I am with them no more!
Unfurl the glorious banner, let it sway upon the breeze,The emblem of our country’s pride, on land, and on the seasThe emblem of our liberty, borne proudly in the wars,The hope of every freeman, the gleaming stripes and stars.CHORUS.Then unfurl the glorious banner out upon the welcoming air,Read the record of the olden time upon its radiance there;In the battle it shall lead us, and our banner ever be,A beacon-light to glory, and a guide to victory.The glorious band of patriots who gave the flag its birth,Have writ with steel in history, the record of its worth;From east to west, from sea to sea, from pole to tropic sun,Will eyes grow bright, and hearts throb high at the name of Washington.Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.Ah! proudly should we bear it, and guard this flag of ours,Borne bravely in its infancy amidst the darker hours;Only the brave may bear it, a guardian it shall beFor those who well have won the right to boast of liberty.Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.The meteor flag of seventy-six, long may it wave in pride,To tell the world how nobly the patriot fathers died:When from the shadows of their night outburst the brilliant sun,It bathed in light the stripes and stars, and lo! the field was won.Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.
Unfurl the glorious banner, let it sway upon the breeze,The emblem of our country’s pride, on land, and on the seasThe emblem of our liberty, borne proudly in the wars,The hope of every freeman, the gleaming stripes and stars.
CHORUS.
Then unfurl the glorious banner out upon the welcoming air,Read the record of the olden time upon its radiance there;In the battle it shall lead us, and our banner ever be,A beacon-light to glory, and a guide to victory.
The glorious band of patriots who gave the flag its birth,Have writ with steel in history, the record of its worth;From east to west, from sea to sea, from pole to tropic sun,Will eyes grow bright, and hearts throb high at the name of Washington.
Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.
Ah! proudly should we bear it, and guard this flag of ours,Borne bravely in its infancy amidst the darker hours;Only the brave may bear it, a guardian it shall beFor those who well have won the right to boast of liberty.
Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.
The meteor flag of seventy-six, long may it wave in pride,To tell the world how nobly the patriot fathers died:When from the shadows of their night outburst the brilliant sun,It bathed in light the stripes and stars, and lo! the field was won.
Chorus.—Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c.
I’ve roved over mountain, I’ve cross’d over flood;I’ve traversed the wave-rolling sand;Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no,Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.The right hand of friendship how oft I have grasp’dAnd bright eyes have smiled and looked bland,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West—in my own native land.Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West—in my own native land.Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love,Where flourishes Liberty’s tree;The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!
I’ve roved over mountain, I’ve cross’d over flood;I’ve traversed the wave-rolling sand;Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no,Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.
The right hand of friendship how oft I have grasp’dAnd bright eyes have smiled and looked bland,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West—in my own native land.Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West—in my own native land.
Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love,Where flourishes Liberty’s tree;The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!
I’ll tell you of a story that happened long ago,When the English came to America, I s’pose you all do know,They couldn’t whip the Yankees, I’ll tell you the reason why,Uncle Sam made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.John Bull sent to Boston, as you shall plainly see,Forty large ships loaded clear up with tea;The Yankees wouldn’t pay the tax, I’ll tell the reason why,The Yankee boys made em sing, Root Hog or Die,They first met our armies on the top of Bunker Hill,When it came to fighting, I guess they got their fill;The Yankee boys chased them off, I’ll tell you the reason why,The Yankee boys made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Then they met our Washington at Yorktown,There the Yankees mow’d ’em down, like grass from the ground;Old Cornwallis gave up his sword, I’ll tell you the reason why,General Washington made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Then they came to Baltimore forty years ago,They tried to take North Point, but found it wouldn’t go;The Baltimoreans chased them off, I’ll tell the reason whyThe Yankee boys made ’em sing Root Hog or Die.Then they march’d their arms down to New Orleans,That was the place, I think, that Jackson gave ’em beans;They couldn’t take our cotton bales, I’ll tell the reason why,General Jackson made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Now Johnny Bull has been kicking up a fuss,He’d better keep quiet or he’ll surely make it worse,We’re bound to have Cuba, I’ll tell you the reason why,For Uncle Sam will make ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
I’ll tell you of a story that happened long ago,When the English came to America, I s’pose you all do know,They couldn’t whip the Yankees, I’ll tell you the reason why,Uncle Sam made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
John Bull sent to Boston, as you shall plainly see,Forty large ships loaded clear up with tea;The Yankees wouldn’t pay the tax, I’ll tell the reason why,The Yankee boys made em sing, Root Hog or Die,
They first met our armies on the top of Bunker Hill,When it came to fighting, I guess they got their fill;The Yankee boys chased them off, I’ll tell you the reason why,The Yankee boys made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Then they met our Washington at Yorktown,There the Yankees mow’d ’em down, like grass from the ground;Old Cornwallis gave up his sword, I’ll tell you the reason why,General Washington made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Then they came to Baltimore forty years ago,They tried to take North Point, but found it wouldn’t go;The Baltimoreans chased them off, I’ll tell the reason whyThe Yankee boys made ’em sing Root Hog or Die.
Then they march’d their arms down to New Orleans,That was the place, I think, that Jackson gave ’em beans;They couldn’t take our cotton bales, I’ll tell the reason why,General Jackson made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Now Johnny Bull has been kicking up a fuss,He’d better keep quiet or he’ll surely make it worse,We’re bound to have Cuba, I’ll tell you the reason why,For Uncle Sam will make ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.