Rosin the Beau (Traditional, 1838)
I’ve traveled all over this world,
And now to another I go.
And I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.
To welcome old Rosin the Beau. (x2)
And I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.
Then get a half dozen stout fellows
And let them all stagger and go
And dig a great hole in the meadow
And in it put Rosin the Beau.
And in it put Rosin the Beau. (x2)
And dig a great hole in the meadow
And in it put Rosin the Beau.
Home, Sweet Home (John Howard Payne, 1791–1852)
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There’s no place like home, oh, there’s no place like home!
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call —
Give me them — and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There’s no place like home, oh, there’s no place like home!
Shepherd of Souls (by James Montgomery 1771-1854)
Shepherd of souls, refresh and bless
Thy chosen pilgrim flock,
With manna in the wilderness,
With water from the rock.
Hungry and thirsty, faint and weak,
As Thou when here below,
Our souls the joys celestial seek
Which from Thy sorrows flow.
We would not live by bread alone,
But by that word of grace,
In strength of which we travel on
To our abiding place.
Gentle Lena Clare (by Stephen Foster, 1862)
I’m thinking of sweet Lena Clare,
With deep blue eyes and waving hair,
Her voice is soft, her face is fair
My gentle Lena Clare.
Chorus: Gentle Lena Clare
My dear lov’d Lena Clare
Her heart is light, her eyes are bright,
My gentle Lena Clare.
I love her careless winning ways,
I love her wild and birdlike lays,
I love the grass whereon she strays
My gentle Lena Clare. (Chorus).
Her home is in the shady glen,
When summer comes I’ll seek again,
On mountain height and lowland plain,
My gentle Lena Clare. (Chorus).
Lizzie Liza Jane (Traditional)
I know a gal that you don’t know, Lizzie Liza Jane. Why down south in Balitmo’, Lizzie Liza Jane.
Chorus: Oh! Eliza, Lizzie Liza Jane, Oh! Eliza, Lizzie Liza Jane!
The Kansas Emigrant Song (J. G. Whittier, 1854)
We cross the prairie as of old,
The pilgrims crossed the sea,
To make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free!
Chorus—
The homestead of the free, my boys,
The homestead of the free,
To make the West, as they the East,
The homestead of the free.
We go to rear a wall of men
On Freedom’s Southern line,
And plant beside the cotton-tree,
The rugged Northern pine!
Chorus.
We’re flowing from our native hills
As our free rivers flow;
The blessing of our motherland
Is on us as we go.
Chorus.
We go to plant her common schools
On distant prairie swells,
And give the Sabbaths of the wild
The music of her bells.
Chorus.
Upbearing, like the Ark of old,
The Bible in our van,
We go to test the truth of God
Against the fraud of man.
Chorus.
No pause, nor rest, save where the streams
That feed the Kansas run,
Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon
Shall flout the setting sun!
Chorus.
We’ll sweep the prairie as of old
Our fathers swept the sea,
And make the West, as they the East
The homestead of the free!
Chorus.
Praise to the Lord, the Almighty (Joachim Neander, in German 1680, translated Catherine Winkworth 1863)
Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!
All ye who hear, now to His temple draw near;
Praise Him in glad adoration.
Praise to the Lord, who over all things so wondrously reigneth,
Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen how thy desires ever have been
Granted in what He ordaineth?
Praise to the Lord, who hath fearfully, wondrously, made thee;
Health hath vouchsafed and, when heedlessly falling, hath stayed thee.
What need or grief ever hath failed of relief?
Wings of His mercy did shade thee.
Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,
If with His love He befriend thee.
Drunken Sailor (Traditional)
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Early in the morning?
Way hey and up she rises!
Way hey and up she rises!
Way hey and up she rises!
Early in the morning!
There’s a Good Time Coming – see Book 1 Songs
Comin’ thro the Rye (Robert Burns, 1796)
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin’ through the rye
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Ilka lassie has a laddie
Nane, they say, ha’e I
Yet a’ the lads they smile at me
When comin’ through the rye
Gin a body meet a body,
Comin’ frae the well,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body tell?
Ilka lassie has a laddie,
Nane, they say, ha’e I,
But all the lads they smile at me
When coming though the rye.
I’m a Good Old Rebel (Unknown)
Oh, I’m a good old rebel,
Now that’s just what I am,
And for this Yankee nation,
I do no give a damn.
I’m glad I fought agains’ ‘er,
I only wish we’d won.
An’ I don’ ask no pardon for anything I’ve done.
I hates the Yankee nation and everything they do.
I hates the Declaration of Independence, too.
I hates the glorious Union, ’tis dripping with our blood.
I hates the striped banner, and fought it all I could.
Now Thank We All Our God (Martin Rinkart, 1636)
Now thank we all our God,
with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things has done,
in whom this world rejoices;
who from our mothers’ arms
has blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love,
and still is ours today.
O may this bounteous God
through all our life be near us,
with ever joyful hearts
and blessed peace to cheer us;
and keep us still in grace,
and guide us when perplexed;
and free us from all ills,
in this world and the next.
All praise and thanks to God
the Father now be given;
the Son, and him who reigns
with them in highest heaven;
the one eternal God,
whom earth and heaven adore;
for thus it was, is now,
and shall be evermore.
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing (Charles Wesley, 1739)
Hark! the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled.”
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”
Christ by highest heav’n adored
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold Him come
Offspring of a Virgin’s womb
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
Hail the incarnate Deity
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Jesus, our Emmanuel
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”
Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris’n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! (The Prisoner’s Hope), (by George F. Root, 1863).
In the prison cell I sit, thinking mother, dear, of you and our bright and happy home so far away. And the tears they fill my eyes, in spite of all that I can do, though I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
Chorus: Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching. Cheer up, comrades, they will come. And beneath the starry flag, we shall breathe the air again, of the free land in our own beloved home.
In the battle front we stood, when their fiercest charge they made, and they swept us off, a hundred men or more. But before they reached our lines, they were beaten back, dismayed. And we heard the cry of victory o’er and o’er. (Chorus).
So within the prison cell, we are waiting for the day, that will come to open wide the iron door. And the hollow eye grow bright and the poor heart almost gay, when we think of seeing home and friends once more! (Chorus).
Lincoln and Liberty (Jesse Hutchinson, 1860).
Hurrah for the choice of the nation!
Our chieftain so brave and so true;
We’ll go for the great Reformation—
For Lincoln and Liberty too!
We’ll go for the son of Kentucky—
The hero of Hoosierdom through;
The pride of the Suckers so lucky—
For Lincoln and Liberty too!
Our David’s good sling is unerring,
The Slaveocrats’ giant he slew;
Then shout for the Freedom-preferring—
For Lincoln and Liberty too!
They’ll find what, by felling and mauling,
Our rail-maker statesman can do;
For the People are everywhere calling
For Lincoln and Liberty too.
Then up with our banner so glorious,
The star-spangled red-white-and-blue,
We’ll fight till our flag is victorious,
For Lincoln and Liberty too!
Just After the Battle (by George F. Root)
Still upon the field of battle
I am lying, mother dear.
With my wounded comrades, waiting
For the morning to appear.
Many sleep to waken never
in this world of strife and death;
And many more are faintly calling,
With their feeble dying breath.
Chorus.
Mother dear, your boy is wounded.
And the night is drear with pain;
But still I feel that I shall see you
And the dear old home again.
Oh! the first great charge was fearful,
And a thousand brave men fell.
Still, amid the dreadful carnage.
I was safe from shot and shell;
So, amid the fatal shower,
I had nearly passed the day.
When, here, the dreaded Minie struck me.
And I sunk amid the fray!-Chorus.
Oh! the glorious cheer of triumph
When the foemen turned and fled,
Leaving us the field of battle
Strewn with dying and with dead.
Oh! the torture and the anguish
That I could not follow on;
But, here amid my fallen comrades,
I must wait till morning’s dawn.-Chorus.
We Plow the Fields and Scatter (Matthias Claudius, 1782).
We plow the fields and scatter
the good seed on the land,
but it is fed and watered
by God’s almighty hand,
who sends the snow in winter,
the warmth to swell the grain,
the breezes and the sunshine,
and soft refreshing rain.
You only are the maker
of all things near and far.
You paint the wayside flower,
you light the evening star.
The wind and waves obey you,
by you the birds are fed;
much more to us, your children,
you give our daily bread.
We thank you, our creator,
for all things bright and good,
the seed-time and the harvest,
our life, our health, our food.
No gifts have we to offer
for all your love imparts,
but what you most would treasure –
our humble, thankful hearts.