We are Coming, Father Abraham – James S. Gibbons (1862), pg. 47

We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more,
From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore.
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear.
We dare not look behind us but steadfastly before.
We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more!

Chorus: We are coming, we are coming our Union to restore,
We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more!

If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;
And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside,
And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour,
We are coming, father Abr’am, three hundred thousand more!

-Chorus

If you look up all our valleys where the growing harvests shine,
You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line;
And children from their mother’s knees are pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and sow against their country’s needs;
And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door,
We are coming, Father Abr’am, three hundred thousand more!

-Chorus

You have called us, and we’re coming by Richmond’s bloody tide,
To lay us down for freedom’s sake, our brothers’ bones beside;
Or from foul treason’s savage group, to wrench the murderous blade;
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before,
We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more!

-Chorus

Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming – Stephen Foster (1863), pg. 68.

Come where my love lies dreaming,
Dreaming the happy hours away,
In visions bright redeeming
The fleeting joys of day;
My own love is sweetly dreaming
The happy hours away.
Her beauty beaming;
Come with a lute toned lay;
Come with a lute, come with a lay,

Soft is her slumber;
Thoughts bright and free
Dance through her dreams
Like gushing melody;
Light is her young heart,
Light may it be:
Come where my love lies dreaming,
Dreaming the happy hours away.

The Fish of the Sea – unknown, pg. 69.

Come all you young sailormen, listen to me
I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,
and it’s…
Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we’re all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou’wester, boys, steady she goes.

Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,
Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,
and it’s…
chorus

Then up jumps the shark with his nine rows of teeth
Saying, ‘You eat the dough boys, and I’ll eat the beef!’
and it’s…
chorus

Can I go, Dearest Mother? – pg. 91, see Book 1 Songs

Song of All Songs – Stephen Foster (1863) – pg. 99

As you’ve walked through the town on a fine summer’s day, The subject I’ve got, you have seen, I dare say. Upon fences and railings, wherever you go, You’ll see the penny ballads sticking up in a row, The titles to read you may stand for a while, And some are so odd, they will cause you to smile. I noted them down as I read them along, And I’ve put them together to make up my song.

Chorus: Old songs! New songs! Ev’ry kind of song, I noted them down as I read them along.

There was “Abraham’s Daughter” “Going out on a Spree,” with “Old Uncle Snow” “In the Cottage by the Sea;” “If Your Foot is Pretty, show it” “At Lanigan’s Ball;” And “Why Did She Leave Him” “On the raging Canawl?” There was “Bonnie Annie” with “a jockey hat and feather;” “I Don’t Think much of you” “We Were Boys and Girls Together.” “Do They think of Me at Home?” “I’ll be Free and Easy Still;” “Give us now a Good Commander” with “the Sword of Bunker Hill.”    -Chorus

“When this Cruel War is over” “No Irish need apply,” “For Everything is lovely and the Goose hangs high;” “The Young Gal from New Jersey,” “Oh, Wilt Thou be My Bride?” And “Oft in the Stilly Night” “We’ll All Take a Ride.” “Let me kiss him for his Mother,” “He’s a Gay Young Gambolier;” “I’m going to fight mit Sigel” and “De bully Lager-bier.” “Hunkey Boy is Yankee Doodle” “When the Cannons loudly roar,” “We are coming, Father Abraham, six hundred thousand more!”    – Chorus

The Southern Soldier Boy  – Captain G.W. Alexander (1863) – pg. 100

Hush-a-by, Baby – Mother Goose’s Melody (1765) – pg. 146

Hush-a-by baby, n the tree top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks,the cradle will fall, and down will fall baby Cradle and all.

The Star-Spangled Banner – Francis Scott Key (1814) – pg. 85

O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream,
’Tis the star-spangled banner – O long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
A home and a Country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their lov’d home and the war’s desolation!
Blest with vict’ry and peace may the heav’n rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto – “In God is our trust,”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

When Sherman Marched Down to the Sea – E. Mack and Adjutant Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers (1865) – pg. 179

Our campfires shone bright on the mountains That frowned on the river below. While we stood by our guns in the morning, And eagerly watched for the foe. When a rider came out of the darkness That hung over mountain and tree. And shouted “Boys! Up and be ready! For Sherman will march to the sea” And shouted “Boys, up and be ready, For Sherman will march to the sea”.

Then shout upon shout for bold Sherman Went up from each valley and glen. And the bugles re-echoed the music That rose from the lips of the men. For we know that the stars in our banners More bright in their splendor would be. And that blessings from North land would greet us, When Sherman marched down to the sea. And that blessings from North land would greet us, When Sherman marched down to the sea.

Then forward, boys, forward to battle, We marched on our wearisome way. And we stormed the wild hills of Resacca, God bless those who fell on that day! Then Kennesaw, dark in its glory, Frowned down on the flag of the free. But the East and the West bore our standards When Sherman marched down to the sea But the East and the West bore our standards When Sherman marched down to the sea

Still onward we pressed till our banners Swept out from Atlanta’s grim walls. And the blood of the patriot dampened The soil where the Traitor flag falls. We paused not to weep for the fallen That slept by each river and tree. But we twined them a wreath of the laurel, When Sherman marched down to the sea. But we twined them a wreath of the laurel, When Sherman marched down to the sea.

Proud, proud was our army that morning, That stood where the pine darkly towers When Sherman said, “Boys, you are weary, But today, fair Savannah is ours.” Then we all sand a song for our Chieftain, That echoed o’er river and lea, And the stars on our banners shone brighter, When Sherman marched down to the sea. And the stars on our banners shone brighter, When Sherman marched down to the sea.

Uncle Sam’s Farm – Jesse Hutchinson Jr. (1850) – pg. 195

Of all the mighty nations in the East or in the West,
O this glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best.
We have room for all creation and our banner is unfurled,
Here’s a general invitation to the people of the world.

Chorus: Then come along, come along, make no delay;
Come from every nation, come from every way.
Our lands, they are broad enough – don’t be alarmed,
For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm.

St. Lawrence marks our Northern line as fast her waters flow;
And the Rio Grande our Southern bound, way down to Mexico.
From the great Atlantic Ocean where the sun begins to dawn,
Leap across the Rocky Mountains far away to Oregon. – Chorus

While the South shall raise the cotton, and the West, the corn and pork,
New England manufactories shall do up the finer work;
For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills
Are just the thing for washing sheep and driving cotton mills. – Chorus

Our fathers gave us liberty, but little did they dream
The grand results that pour along this mighty age of steam;
For our mountains, lakes and rivers are all a blaze of fire,
And we send our news by lightning on the telegraphic wires. – Chorus

The brave in every nation are joining heart and hand
And flocking to America, the real promised land;
And Uncle Sam stands ready with a child upon each arm
To give them all a welcome to a lot upon his farm. – Chorus

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp – pg. 222, see Book 3 Songs

Sweet and Low, Wind of the Western Sea – Alfred Lord Tennyson (1847) – pg. 222

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea.
Over the rolling waters go;
Come form the dying moon, and blow;
Blow him again to me,
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest on mother’s breast,
Father will come to thee soon.
Father will come to his babe in the nest;
Silver sails all out of the west;
Under the silver moon,
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Poor Wayfaring Stranger – American folk – pg. 230

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
A-travelling through this world of woe
But there’s no sickness, toil or danger
In that fair land to which I go

I’m going there
To see my father
He said she’d meet me when I come
I’m only going over Jordan
I’m only going over home

I know dark clouds
Will gather ’round me
I know my way is rough and steep
But golden fields lie just before me
Where God’s redeemed
Their vigils keep

I’m going home to see my mother
She said she’d meet me when I come
I’m only going over Jordan
I’m only going over home

Cumberland’s Crew – Anonymous – pg. 237

Oh, shipmates come gather and join in my ditty
Of a terrible battle that happened of late.
Let each Union tar shed a tear of sad pity
When he things of the once-gallant Cumberland’s fate.
The eighth day of March told a terrible story
When many a brave tar to this world bid adieu.
Our flag, it was wrapped in a mantle of glory
By the heroic deeds of the Cumberland’s crew.

On that ill-fated day, about ten in the morning,
the sky it was clear, bright shone the sun.
The drums of the Cumberland sounded a warning
That told every seaman to stand by his gun.
For an ironclad frigate down on us came bearing
And high in the air her base Rebel flag flew.
A banner of treason, she proudly was nearing,
Determined to conquer the Cumberland’s crew.

They fought us three hours, with stern resolution,
’til the Rebels found cannon could never decide.
The flag of secession had no power to quell them,
Though the blood from our scuppers did crimson the tide.
She struck us amidships. Our flank she did sever.
Her sharp iron prow pierced our noble ship through.
And they cried as they sank in that dark rolling river.
“We’ll die at our guns,” cried the Cumberland’s crew.

Oh slowly they sank in those dark rolling waters.
Their voices on earth shall be hard nevermore.
They’ll be wept by Columbia’s brave sons and fair daughters.
May their blood be avenged on Virginia’s old shore.
And if ever our sailors in battle assemble,
God bless our dear banner, the red, white, and blue.
Beneath her proud folds we’ll cause tyrants to tremble,
Or sink at our guns like the Cumberland’s crew.

White Shell – Navajo – pg. 247

Rainbows lie beneath you, downy clouds around you, hush my little white shell, hush my little white shell. Go to sleep my white shell, go to sleep my white shell.

Angels We Have Heard on High – French unknown – pg. 260

Angels we have heard on high, Sweetly singing o’er the plains. And the mountains in reply Echoing their joyous strains.

(Chorus) Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gloria in excelsis Deo.

Shepherds, why this jubilee? Why your joyous strains prolong? What the gladsome tidings be Which inspire your heav’nly song? – Chorus

Come to Bethlehem and see Him whose birth the angels sing; Come, adore on bended knee Christ the Lord, the newborn King. -Chorus

Good King Wenceslas – John Mason Neele (1853) – pg. 263

Good King Weceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shown the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gath’ring winter fuel.

“Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou know’st it, telling: Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?” “Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain, Right against the forest fence by Saint Agnes’ fountain.”

“Bring me flesh and bring me wine, Bring me pine logs hither. Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear him thither.” Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together, Through the rude wind’s wild lament and the bitter weather

“Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger. Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.” “Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly.”

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

Jingle Bells – James Lord Pierpont (1857) – pg. 264

Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O’er the fields we go
Laughing all the way

Bells on bobtail ring
Making spirits bright
What fun it is to ride and sing
A sleighing song tonight!

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle all the way.
Oh! what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh.

Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day – English Traditional (1833) – pg. 267

Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;

Chorus – Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love

In a manger laid, and wrapped I was
So very poor, this was my chance
Between an ox and a silly poor ass
To call my true love to my dance. – Chorus

Then afterwards baptized I was;
The Holy Ghost on me did glance,
My Father’s voice heard I from above,
To call my true love to my dance. – Chorus

Three Fishers – Charles Kingsley (1851) – pg. 274

Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who lov’d him the best;
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there’s little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower,
And they trimm’d the lamps as the sun went down;
They look’d at the squall, and they look’d at the shower,
And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown!
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep—
And good-by to the bar and its moaning.

Lilly Dale – H. S. Thompson (1852) – pg. 295

‘Twas a calm, still night, and the moon’s pale light
Shone soft o’er hill and vale,
When the friends, mute with grief, stood around the death-bed
Of my poor lost Lilly Dale.

Chorus –
Oh! Lilly, sweet Lilly, dear Lilly Dale,
Now the wild rose blossoms o’er her little green grave,
‘Neath the trees in the flow’ry vale.

Her cheeks that once glowed with the rose tint of health,
By the hand of disease had turned pale,
And the death damp was on the pure white brow,
Of my poor lost Lilly Dale. – Chorus

“I go,” she said, “to the land of rest, and ere my strength shall fail,
I must tell you where, near my own loved home,
You must lay poor Lilly Dale.” -Chorus

“‘Neath the chestnut trees, where the wild flow’rs grow
And the stream ripples forth thro’ the vale,
Where the birds shall warble their songs in spring,
There lay poor Lilly Dale.” – Chorus

Gentle Annie – Stephen Foster (1856) – pg. 295

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

Chorus – Shall we never more behold thee; Never hear thy winning voice again When the Springtime comes gentle Annie, When the wild flow’rs are scattered o’er the plain?

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

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

Under the Willow She’s Sleeping – Stephen Foster (1860) – pg. 295

Under the willow she’s laid with care, Sang a lone mother while weeping, Under the willow, with golden hair, My darling is quietly sleeping.

Chorus: Fair, fair, with golden hair;
Sang a lone mother while weeping,
Fair, fair, with golden hair;
Under the willow she’s sleeping.

Under the willow no songs are heard, near where my darling lies dreaming, nought but the voice of the far-off bird, where life in its pleasures are beaming. – Chorus

Rosalie, the Prairie Flower – George F. Root (1855) – pg. 295 and 339

On the distant prairie, where the heather wild,
In its quiet beauty liv’d and smiled,
Stands a little cottage, and a creeping vine
Loves around its porch to twine.
In that peaceful dwelling was a lovely child,
With her blue eyes beaming soft and mild,
And the wavy ringlets of her flaxen hair,
Floating in the summer air.

Chorus- Fair as a lily, joyous and free
Light of that prairie home was she,
Ev’ryone who knew her felt the gentle pow’r
Of Rosalie, ‘The Prairie Flower.’

On that distant prairie, when the days were long,
Tripping like a fairy, sweet her song,
With the sunny blossoms, and the birds at play,
Beautiful and bright as they.
When the twilight shadows gather’d in the west,
And the voice of Nature sank to rest,
Like a cherub kneeling, seem’d the lovely child,
With her gentle eyes so mild. – chorus

But the summer faded, and a chilly blast,
O’er that happy cottage swept at last:
When the autumn song birds woke the dewy morn,
Little ‘Prairie Flow’r’ was gone.
For the angels whisper’d softly in her ear,
‘Child, thy Father calls thee, stay not here.’
And they gently bore her, rob’d in spotless white,
To their blissful home of light.
Though we shall never look on her more,
Gone with the love and joy she bore,
Far away she’s blooming in a fadeless bow’r,
Sweet Rosalie, ‘The Prairie Flow’r’.

The Old Oaken Bucket – Samuel Woodworth (1826) – pg. 310

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket that hung in the well-
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!

Marching Through Georgia – pg. 316, see Book 1 Songs

For the Dear Old Flag I Die, Mother – George Cooper (1863) – pg. 323

For the dear old Flag I die, Said the wounded drummer boy; Mother, press your lips to mine; O, they bring me peace and joy! ‘Tis the last time on earth I shall ever see your face. Mother take me to your heart, Let me die in your embrace.

Chorus – For the dear old Flag I die, Mother, dry your weeping eye; For the honor of our land And the dear old Flag I die

Do not mourn, my mother, dear, every pang will soon be o’er; For I hear the angel band Calling from their starry shore; Now I see their banners wave In the light of perfect day, though ’tis hard to part with you, Yet I would not wish to stay. – Chorus

Farewell mother, Death’s cold hand Weighs upon my spirit now, And I feel his blighting breath Fan my pallid cheek and brow. Closer! closer! to your heart, Let me feel that you are by, While my sight is growing dim, For the dear old Flag I die.- Chorus