O band in the pine wood, cease!
Cease with your splendid call!
The living are brave and noble,
But the dead were bravest of all!
They throng in the martial summons,
The loud, triumphant strain;
And the dear, bright eyes of long-dead friends,
Come to the heart again.
They come with the ringing bugle
And the deep drum’s mellow roar—
And the soul is faint with longing
For the hands we clasp no more!
O band in the pine wood, cease!
Or the heart will melt in tears,
For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,
And the voices of old years!
Southern Illustrated News.

“Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
Their blossoms on thy brow.”

MY WARRIOR BOY.

Metropolitan Record. Music by A. E. A. Muse.

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

Thou hast gone forth, my darling one,
To battle with the brave,
To strike in Freedom’s sacred cause,
Or win an early grave;
With vet’rans grim, and stalwart men,
Thy pathway lieth now,
Though fifteen summers scarce have shed
Their blossoms on thy brow.

My babe in years, my warrior boy!
O! if a mother’s tears
Could call thee back to be my joy,
And still these anxious fears,
I’d dash the traitor drops away,
That would unnerve thy hand,
Now raised to strike in Freedom’s cause,
For thy dear native land.