Beadle's Dime Song Book No. 1
полная версия
Аннотация
Читать онлайн
- -
- 100%
- +
The Old Farm-House
Oh, the old farm-house, down beside the valley stream,Where in childhood so oft I have play’d,Ere sorrow had clouded my heart’s early dream,Or life’s purest joys had decay’d;How well I remember the vine-cover’d roof,And the rose-bushes clustering nigh,And the tall, stately poplar-trees standing aloof,Whose tops seem’d to reach to the sky,Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.Oh, the old farm-house, how I’ve sported round its hearthWith my sisters and brothers so dear;How oft has it rung with our innocent mirth,And hallow’d our soft evening-prayer;But the old farm-house now is bowing to decay,Its stones like dead friends lie apart;But its dear, cherish’d image shall ne’er fade awayFrom affection’s domain in my heart.Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.The Sword of Bunker Hill
Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyrightHe lay upon his dying bed,His eye was growing dim,When with a feeble voice he call’d,His weeping son to him:“Weep not, my boy,” the veteran said,“I bow to Heaven’s high will,But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”The sword was brought, the soldier’s eyeLit with a sudden flame;And as he grasp’d the ancient blade,He murmur’d Warren’s name;Then said, “My boy, I leave you gold,But what is richer still,I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,The sword of Bunker Hill.I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,The sword of Bunker Hill.“Twas on that dread, immortal day,I dared the Briton’s band,A captain raised this blade on me,I tore it from his hand;And while the glorious battle raged,It lighten’d freedom’s will,For, boy, the God of Freedom bless’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.For, boy, the God of Freedom bless’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.“Oh! keep the sword,” his accents broke,A smile, and he was dead;But his wrinkled hand still grasp’d the blade,Upon that dying bed.The son remains, the sword remains,Its glory growing still,And twenty millions bless the sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.And twenty millions bless the sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.A National Song
God of the Free! to thee we look,As look’d our sires in days of old,When on thy breath invoked by prayer,Their banner for the Right unroll’d.That glorious banner still is ours;Our falchions like their own shall start,When Freedom’s sent’nel-trumpet calls,To find the impious tyrant’s heart.Their sacred homesteads still we own,And still the wave of Plymouth rollsThe hymn of Justice, Labor, Right,And blest Religion in our souls.Their mighty mission was not leftBy them in vain for us, for we,Heirs of a continent, are yetSubduing mountain, vale, and sea.How proudly on our march we go,With Washington’s own flag unfurl’d;The blood of all the world is here,And he who strikes us, strikes the world!Then wave thine oaken bough, O North!O South! exulting lift thy palms;And in our Union’s heritageTogether sing the Nation’s psalms.Belle Brandon
’Neath a tree by the margin of a woodland,Whose spreading leafy boughs sweep the ground,With a path leading thither o’er the prairie,Where silence hung her night garb around;Where oft I have wander’d in the evening,When the summer winds were fragrant on the lea,There I saw the little beauty Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.REPEATThere I saw the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.Belle Brandon was a birdling of the mountain,In freedom she sported on the lea,And they said the life current of the red manTinged her veins, from a far distant sea.And she loved her humble dwelling on the prairie,And her guileless happy heart clung to me,And I loved the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we both loved the old arbor tree.Repeat. – And I loved the little beauty, &cOn the trunk of an aged tree I carved them,And our names on the sturdy oak remain,But I now repair in sorrow to its shelter,And murmur to the wild winds my pain.And I sat there in solitude repining,For the beauty dream night brought to me,Death has wed the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And she sleeps ’neath the old arbor tree.Repeat. – Death has wed the little beauty, &cThe Dying Californian
Lay up nearer, brother, nearer, for my limbs are growing cold,And thy presence seemeth dearer when thy arms around me foldI am dying, brother, dying, soon you’ll miss me in your berth,And my form will soon be lying ’neath the ocean’s briny surf.Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say,Ere this vail my vision darken, and I go from hence away;I am going, surely going, but my hopes in God are strong,I am willing, brother, knowing that He doeth nothing wrong.Tell my father when you greet him, that in death I pray’d for him,Pray’d that I might one day meet him, in a world that’s free from sin;Tell my mother, God assist her, now that she is growing old,Tell, her son would glad have kiss’d her, when his lips grew pale and cold.Hearken to me – catch each whisper, ’tis my wife I speak of now.Tell, oh, tell her, how I miss’d her, when the fever burnt my brow:Hearken to me, closely listen, don’t forget a single word,That in death my eyes did glisten when the tears her memory stirr’d.Tell her then to kiss my children, like the kiss I last impress’d,Hold them fast as last I held them, fold’d closely to my breast;Give them early to their Maker, putting all their trust in God,And He will never forsake her – He has said so in His word.O my childern, Heaven bless them! they were all my life to me;Would I could once more caress them, ere I sink beneath the sea;’Twas for them I cross’d the ocean – what my hopes were I’ll not tell,But they have gain’d an orphan’s portion – yet He doeth all things well.Tell my sisters I remember every kindly parting word,And my heart has been kept tender by the thoughts their memory stirr’d;Tell them I never reach’d the haven where I sought the precious dust,But I’ve gain’d a port call’d heaven, where the gold doth never rust.Urge them to secure an entrance, for they will find their brother there,Faith in Jesus and repentance will secure for them a share;Hark! I hear my Saviour calling-’tis I know his voice so well,When I’m gone, oh, don’t be weeping, brother, hear my last farewell!I want to go Home
I want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam, far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.But now I am far away,To my home I must go soon,I want to go back to hunt for the deer track,And watch for the possum and coon.CHORUSI want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.I want to go whereThe sugar cane’s growing so green,For many a day have I wandered away,To watch the old mill by the stream.And when the night had come,And the darkey’s work was done,We’ve gathered around, for a dance on the greenBy the sound of the old Tamborine.But now I am far away,And lonely and sad is my lot,I never can rest till my journey is past,And I again seek my old cot.From my childhood’s happy home,I never more will roam.I will take by my side, my young Tennessee brideAnd live ever happy at home.Bold Privateer
It’s oh! my dearest Polly, you and I must part,I am going across the seas, love, I give to you my heart,My ship she lies in waiting, so fare thee well, my dear,I am just a going on board of the Bold Privateer.But oh, my dearest Johnny, great dangers have been cross’d,And many a sweet life by the seas has been lost;You had better stop at home with the girl that loves you dear,Than to venture your life on the Bold Privateer.When the wars are over, may heaven spare my life,Then soon I will come back to my sweet, loving wife.Then soon I will get married to charming Polly dear,And forever bid adieu to the Bold Privateer.Oh! my dearest Polly, your friends do me dislike,Besides you have two brothers who’d quickly take my life.Come, change your ring with me, my dear, come change your ring with me,And that shall be our token when I am on the sea.Heather Dale
In a peaceful little valley,Where the violets grow,There I used to wander daily,Watching at the brooklet’s flow;Not a spot I loved so dearlyAs this fragrant vale,And I never shall forget it,Lovely little Heather Dale!Chorus.– Oh, how I always loved to,With my sister Nell,Roam in days of youthful pleasureIn that little Heather Dale.There I’ve heard the little songstersSing their songs of glee,Skipping from the waving tree-tops,’Twas a lovely sight to me;Fragrance from the little flowersFill’d each gentle gale,As they in their course came playingThrough the little Heather Dale. Chorus.– Oh, how I always loved to, &cNow those childhood’s days have fleeted,And no more I’ll roam,In that quiet little valleyNear my old sequester’d home;But I always shall rememberWhere I used to trail,Through that lone and silent valley,My own little Heather Dale. Chorus.– Oh, how I always loved to &cThe Marseilles Hymn
Ye sons of Freedom, awake to glory!Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise?Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,Behold their tears and hear their cries.Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,Affright and desolate the land,While peace and liberty lie bleeding?To arms! to arms! ye brave!The avenging sword unsheath:March on! march on! all hearts resolvedOn victory or death.Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,Which treacherous kings confederate raise;The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,And lo! our fields and cities blaze;And shall we basely view the ruin,While lawless force, with guilty stride,Spreads desolation far and wide,With crimes and blood his hands embruing?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.With luxury and pride surrounded,The vile, insatiate despots dare,(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded),To mete and vend the light and air.Like beasts of burden would they load us,Like gods would bid their slaves adoreBut man is man, and who is more?Then shall they longer lash and goad us?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.O Liberty! can man resign thee,Once having felt thy generous flame?Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?Or whips thy noble spirit tame?Too long the world has wept, bewailingThat falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield,But freedom is our sword and shield,And all their arts are unavailing.To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.Twinkling Stars
Twinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be;Troubles come and go, love,Brightest scenes must leave our sight,But the star of hope, love,Shines with radiant beams to-night.CHORUSTwinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be.Golden beams are shining, love,Shining on you to bless,Like the queen of night, you fillDarkest space with loveliness.Silver stars how bright, love,Mother moon in thronely might,Gaze on us to bless, love,Purest vows here made to-night.Chorus. – Twinkling stars, &cShells of the Ocean
One summer eve, with pensive thought,I wandered on the sea-beat shore,Where oft, in heedless infant sport,I gathered shells in days before.I gathered shells, &c.The plashing waves, like music fell,Responsive to my fancy wild,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.A dream came o’er me like a spell,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.I stooped upon the pebbly strand,To cull the toys that ’round me lay,But as I took them in my hand,I threw them one by one away.I threw them, &c.“Oh, thus,” I said, “in every stage,By toys our fancy is beguiled,We gather shells from youth to age,And then we leave them like a child.”We gathere shells, &c.Old Dog Tray
Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyrightThe morn of life is past, and evening comes at last,It brings me a dream of a once happy day,Of many forms I’ve seen, upon the village green,Sporting with my old Dog Tray.ChorusOld Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him awayHe’s gentle, he is kind, I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray,The forms I call’d my own, have vanish’d one by one,The loved ones, the dear ones, have all pass’d away;Their happy smiles have flown, their gentle voices gone,I have nothing left but old Dog Tray.Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can never drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray.When thoughts recall the past, his eyes are on me cast,I know that he feels what my breaking heart would say,Although he can not speak, I’ll vainly, vainly seek,A better friend than old Dog Tray.Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find.A better friend than old Dog Tray.Red, White, and Blue
Oh Columbia, the gem of the ocean,The home of the brave and the free,The shrine of each patriot’s devotion,A world offers homage to thee.Thy mandates make heroes assemble,When liberty’s form stands in view,Thy banners make tyranny tremble,When borne by the red, white, and blue.When borne by the red, white, and blue,When borne by the red, white, and blue,Thy banners make tyranny tremble,When borne by the red, white, and blue.When war waged its wide desolation,And threaten’d our land to deform,The ark then of freedom’s foundation,Columbia rode safe through the storm.With her garland of victory o’er her,When so proudly she bore her bold crew,With her flag proudly floating before her,The boast of the red, white, and blue.The boast of, &c.The wine cup, the wine cup bring hither,And fill you it up to the brim,May the wreath they have won never witherNor the star of their glory grow dim,May the service united ne’er sever,And hold to their colors so true,The army and navy forever,Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.Three cheers for, &c.The Rock of Liberty
Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyrightOh! the firm old rock, the wave-worn rock,That braved the blast and the billow’s shock;It was born with time on a barren shore,And it laugh’d with scorn at the ocean’s roar.’Twas here that first the Pilgrim band,Came weary up to the foaming strand;And the tree they rear’d in the days gone by,It lives, it lives, it lives, and ne’er shall die.Thou stern old rock in the ages past,Thy brow was bleach’d by the warring blast;But thy wintry toil with the wave is o’er,And the billows beat thy base no more.Yet countless as thy sands, old rock,Are the hardy sons of the Pilgrim stock;And the tree they rear’d in the days gone by,It lives, it lives, it lives, and ne’er shall die.Then rest, old rock, on the sea-beat shore,Our sires are lull’d by the breaker’s roar;’Twas here that first their hymns were heardO’er the startled cry of the ocean bird.’Twas here they lived, ’twas here they died,Their forms repose on the green hill-side;And the tree they rear’d in the days gone by,It lives, it lives, it lives, and ne’er shall die.Our Mary Ann
Oh, fare you well, my own Mary Ann,Fare you well for a while;The ship is ready, and the wind is fair,And I am bound for the sea, Mary Ann.Oh, didn’t you see your turtile dove,A sittin’ on yonder pile,Lamenting the loss of his own true love,And so am I for my Mary Ann.Oh, fare you well, &cA lobster in a lobster pot,A blue fish in a brook,May suffer some – but you know not,What I do feel for my Mary Ann.Oh, fare you well, &cThe pride of all the produce ground,The dinner kitchen-garden fruit,Is pnmpkins some, but can’t compare,The love I bear for my Mary Ann.Oh, fare you well, &cEvening Star
Beautiful star in heaven so bright,Softly falls thy silver light,As thou movest from earth afar,Star of the evening – beautiful star.Beautiful star, beautiful star,Star of the evening,Beautiful, beautiful star.In fancy’s eyes thou seemst to say,Follow me, come from earth away;Upward they spirit’s pinions try,To realms of love beyond the sky.Beautiful star, &c.Shine on! O star of love divine,And may our souls around thee twine,As thou movest from earth afar,Star of the twilight – beautiful star.Beautiful star, &c.The Age of Progress
The age of giant progress,Americans all hail!The land, all interwovenWith telegraph and rail;No sluggish chains shall bind us,No tardiness delay;The morning light is breaking (waking)O’er our destiny.The age of trained lightning,“Dispatching” human thought;What wondrous revolutionThe scheme of Morse hath wrought!No time, no space can hinderThe quick, electric fire;Intelligence is flashing (dashing)O’er the magic wire.The age of grand conceptions,The “cable of the deep!”It “snapp’d,” but we will mend it,We have no time to weep.The great Pacific Railroad!’Twill not be long beforeThe railroad cars are flying (hieing)From the golden shore.The age of priceless knowledge,The scholar’s jubilee!The land all dotted overWith institutions free.Our public schools! Oh, hail them!They offer treasures cheap:The boys and girls are scaling (hailing)Science’s rugged steep.Glad to Get Home
Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyrightOh, how glad to get home,For far I’ve wander’d,Joyful, joyful I come,Dear home, to thee!Fond ones welcome me here,Loved ones are near me;Voices float on my ear,Sweet, sweet to me.CHORUSDear friends that are round me, haste with looks delighted,Days long vanish’d and gone, come to my heart.Dear home of my childhood, once again united,Never, never again from thee I’ll part.Father, in the warm graspI feel thy welcome,Oh, from love’s tender claspNe’er let me fly;Mother, fondly againThou dost enfold me;Tears I can not restrainBurst from mine eye. Chorus.– Dear friends that are round me, &cBrother, still is thy browNoble as ever,As I look on thee now,How swells my heart!Sister, gentle and kind,Close to me clinging;Now in love we are twinedNo more to part. Chorus.– Dear friends that are round me, &cBlind Orphan Boy’s Lament
“They tell me that my mother’s sleepingIn the church-yard far away,That she knows not I am weeping —Weeping all the live long day.“They tell me that my father’s lyingIn the dark grave by her side;That I’m left on life’s rough billowWith no earthly friend or guide.“When the wild woods echo loudly,And the merry songsters sing,When the winds are hurrying past meWith sweet music on their wings,“Methinks I hear my mother calling,And her grave I long to find;But there’s no one here to lead me,For the orphan boy is blind.”He now sleeps within that church-yardWhere he ofttimes long’d to be;Angels bore his soul to heaven,Now the poor blind boy can see.The Lake-Side Shore
Summer’s breath is lightly fallingOn the silent waters blue,And the moonbeams bright are sportingWith the drops of glittering dew;Hark! away upon the watersThere’s a sound of dipping oar,And a boat-song loudly chanted,Echoes down the lake-side shore.Now the night-bird’s song comes floatingSweetly down the midnight air,Waking all the depths, to listenTo the birds that thus should dareTo break the weird and solemn stillness,That had reign’d so long before,In the wood, and mead, and valley,On the silent lake-side shore.Now the song comes swelling bolder,And the boatman’s chant is heard,Louder o’er the distant waters,As it would outvie the bird;But each song at last is finish’d,And the bird to rest once more,Leaves no sound to break the quietOf the happy lake-side shore.Who can say there is no pleasureThus to walk the night alone,Listening to the night-bird’s music,Or the boatman’s solemn tone?Where is there a spot more lovely,Where the vail of night hangs o’er?Where another place more lovelyThan this silent lake-side shore?The Tempest
We were crowded in the cabin,Not a soul would dare to sleep,It was midnight on the waters,And the storm was o’er the deep’Tis a fearful thing in winterTo be shatter’d by the blast,And to hear the trumpet thunder,“Cut away the mast!”We shudder’d there in silence,For the stoutest held his breath,While the hungry sea was roaring,And the breakers talk’d with death;Sad thus we sat in silence,All busy with our prayers,“We’re lost!” the captain shouted,As he stagger’d down the stairs.But his little daughter whisper’d.As she took the icy hand,“Is not God upon the waters,Just the same as on the land?”Then we kiss’d the little maiden,And we spake of better cheer,As we anchor’d safe in harbor,Where the sun was shining clear.Chorus.– And a shout rose loud and joyous,As we grasp’d the friendly hand,God is on the waters,Just the same as on the land.E Pluribus Unum
Copied by permission of Peters & Sons, Fourth St. Cincinnati O owners of the copyrightThough many and bright are the stars that appearIn the flag of our country unfurl’d;And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there,Like a rainbow adorning the world;Their lights are unsullied as those in the sky,By a deed that our fathers have done,And they’re leagued in as true and as holy a tie,In their motto of “Many in one.”From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flungThat banner of star-light abroad,Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clungAs they clung to the promise of God;By the bayonet traced at the midnight of war,On the fields where our glory was won,Oh! perish the hand, or the heart that would marOur motto of “Many in one.”’Mid the smoke of the contest, the cannon’s deep roar.How oft it hath gather’d renown;While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,When the cross and the lion went down.And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour,Yet the hearts that were striking below,Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,And they stopp’d not to number the foe.We are many in one where there glitters a starIn the blue of the heavens above,And tyrants shall quail ’mid their dungeons afar,When they gaze on our motto of love.It shall gleam o’er the sea ’mid the bolts of the storm,O’er the tempest, and battle, and wreck,And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm,’Neath the blood on the slippery deck.Then up with our flag, let it stream on the air,Though our fathers are cold in their graves;They had hands that could strike, they had souls that could dare,And their sons were not born to be slaves.Up, up with our banner where’er it may call,Our millions shall rally around,A nation of freemen that moment shall fall,When its stars shall be trail’d on the ground.A Good Time Coming
There is a good time coming, boys,A good time coming;There’s a good time coming, boys,Wait a little longer;We may not live to see the day,But earth shall glisten in the rayOf the good time coming;Cannon-balls may aid the truth,But thought’s a weapon stronger;We’ll win our battles by its aid,Wait a little longer.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming,There’s a good time coming, boys.Wait a little longer.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming;There’s a good time coming, boys,Wait a little longer;The pen shall supersede the sword,And right, not might, shall be the lord,In the good time comidg;Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind,And be acknowledged stronger,The proper impulse has been given,Wait a little longer.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming,There’s a good time coming, boys,Wait a little longer.The Hills of New England
The hills of New England, how proudly they rise,In their wildness of grandeur to blend with the skies,With their far azure outline, and tall, ancient trees,New England, my country, I love thee for these.The vales of New England, that cradle her streams,And smile in their beauty like land in our dreams;All sunny with beauty, embosom’d in ease.New England, my country, I love thee for these.The woods of New England, still verdant and high,Though rock’d by the tempest of ages gone by;Romance dims their arches, and speaks in the breeze,New England, my country, I love thee for these.The streams of New England, that roar as they go,Or seem in their wildness but dreaming to flow;Oh! bright gilds the sunbeam their march to the seas,New England, my country, I love thee for these.The homes of New England, free, fortuned, and fair;Oh, many a heart treasures its seraphim there,E’en more than thy mountains or streamlets they please,New England, my country, I love thee for these.God shield thee, New England, dear land of my birth,And thy children that wander afar on the earth;Thou still art my country, where’er I am cast, —Take thou to thy bosom my ashes at last.