The Good Old Songs We Used to Sing, 61 to 65 | Page 4

Chaplain McCabe sung this soul-stirring hymn, all the prisoners joining heartily in the chorus, making the old prison walls ring--"Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!"
[Illustration: SIXTEENTH CORPS.]
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;?He is tramping out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He has loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible quick sword;
His truth is marching on.
CHORUS.--Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
CHORUS.--Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel, "As ye deal with my contemners, so with my grace shall deal; Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
CHORUS.--Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat; Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on.
CHORUS.--Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
In the beauties of the lillies Christ was born across the sea With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;?As He died to make men holy, _let us die to make men free_,
While God is marching on.
CHORUS.--Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
HOME, SWEET HOME.
(By John Howard Payne.)
KEY OF E FLAT.
[Illustration]
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,?Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;?A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,?Which, seek thro' 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.
I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,?And feel that my mother now thinks of her child?As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door?Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home, etc.
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;?Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;?The birds, singing gaily, that came at my call;?Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home, etc.
[Illustration]
WHO WILL CARE FOR MOTHER NOW.
KEY OF B FLAT.
[Illustration: BRIG. GEN'L JOS. A. MOWER.]
Why am I so weak and weary??See how faint my heated breath;?All around to me seems darkness;?Tell me, comrades, is this death??Ah! how well I know your answer;?To my fate I meekly bow,?If you'll only tell me truly?Who will care for mother now?
CHORUS.
Soon with angels I'll be marching,?With bright laurels on my brow;?I have for my country fallen;?Who will care for mother now?
Who will comfort her in sorrow??Who will dry the falling tear,?Gently smooth her wrinkled forehead??Who will whisper words of cheer??Even now I think I see her?Kneeling, praying for me! how?Can I leave her in anguish??Who will care for mother now?--CHORUS.
Let this knapsack be my pillow,?And my mantle be the sky;?Hasten, comrades, to the battle!?I will like a soldier die.?Soon with angels I'll be marching,?With bright laurels on my brow;?I have for my country fallen;?Who will care for mother now?--CHORUS.
[Illustration: 25TH CORPS.]
WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.
(Used by permission.)
KEY OF C.
[Illustration: MAJ. GEN'L FRANK P. BLAIR.]
Dearest love, do you remember!?When we last did meet,?How you told me that you loved me,?Kneeling at my feet??Oh! how proud you stood before me,?In your suit of blue,?When you vowed to me and country?Ever to be true.
CHORUS.
Weeping, sad and lonely,?Hopes and fears how vain;?When this cruel war is over,?Praying that we meet again.
When the summer breeze is sighing,?Mournfully along!?Or when autumn leaves are falling,?Sadly breathes the song.?Oft in dreams I see thee lying?On the battle plain,?Lonely, wounded, even dying;?Calling, but in vain.--CHORUS.
If amid the din of battle?Nobly you should fall,?Far away from those who love you,?None to hear you call,?Who would whisper words of comfort,?Who would soothe your pain??Ah! the many cruel fancies?Ever in my brain.--CHORUS.
But our country called you, darling,?Angels cheer your way,?While our nation's sons are fighting?We can only pray.?Nobly strike for God and liberty,?Let all nations see?How we love our starry banner,?Emblem of the free.--CHORUS.
[Illustration: SIGNAL CORPS.]
[Illustration: CANISTER.]
WE ARE COMING, FATHER ABRAHAM.
(Used by permission of S. Brainard's Sons, owners of the copyright.)
[Illustration: LINCOLN.]
We are coming, Father Abraham--three hundred thousand 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--three hundred thousand more!
If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky, Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;?And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloud veil aside, And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride; And bayonets in the sunlight gleam,