WAR SONG.

Come! come! come!
Come, brothers you are called;
Come, each one unappalled;
Come and defend your home!
Come! come! come!
The cannon’s belching roar,
The musket’s deadly pour—
Cry, men, defend your home!
Come! come! come!
Let the invitation sound,
Through town and country round,
Come, men, defend your home!
Come! come! come!
With a prayer to Him on high;
God grant us victory,
While fighting for our home.
Come! come! come!
Wait not, lest you live to see
Your loved ones crushed by tyranny,
And desolate your home!

ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC TO-NIGHT.

By Lamar Fontaine. Music by J. H. Hewett.

[The music of this song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]

“All quiet along the Potomac to-night!”
Except here and there a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
’Tis nothing! a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of a battle;
Not an officer lost! only one of the men
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.
“All quiet along the Potomac to-night!”
Where soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
And their tents in the rays of the clear Autumn moon,
And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard o’er the army while sleeping.
There’s only the sound of the lone sentry’s tread,
As he tramps from rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two on the low trundle bed,
Far away, in the cot on the mountain.

His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender.
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,
And their mother—“may heaven defend her!”