O! the trees on the land that grow, that grow,
And the fruits that they produce,
Demand to be sung with vigor, I know,
For each of them has its use.

To the oak and the beech much credit is due;
To the birch we have all dropped a tear;
And, as for the pine, what teachings divine
To its gum-clogged knots adhere!
But now that treason stalks the shore,
And sails upon the main,

The tree that most is worth a toast
From all of loyal grain,

Is the taper Yard-Arm Trce,
That grows on a ship in the sea.

Up from the Isthmus we steam, we steam,
With treasure in our hold;

Bars and dust that take no rust,

And nuggets of yellow gold.

Down on our quarter sweeps a bark
Flaunting the Cotton Flag;

A rebel bark, with a letter of marque,
And they strive to get our swag;

But they reckoned without one skipper brave,
And grand it was to see,

The bloated Cotton blossoms wave

Upon our yard-arm tree.

So here's to the Yard-Arm Tree,
That grows on a ship in the sea!

CHORUS Then come, ye hardy volunteers,

Around our standard throng,

And pledge man's hope of coming years—
The Union, right or wrong!
The Union, right or wrong, inspires

The burden of our song;

It was the glory of our sires-
The Union, right or wrong!

II.

It is the duty of us all

To check rebellion's sway;
To rally at the nation's call,
And we that voice obey!
Then, like a band of brothers, go,
A hostile league to break,
To rout a spoil-encumber'd foe,
And what is ours, retake.

CHORUS-SO Come, ye hardy volunteers,

Around our standard throng,

And pledge man's hope of coming years-
The Union, right or wrong!
The Union, right or wrong, inspires

The burden of our song;

It was the glory of our sires-
The Union, right or wrong!

WAR SONG OF THE FREE, AIR-"Hail, Columbia."

I.

War sounds his tocsin loud and high;
Ye Freemen, hear the battle-ery:
Awake ye from your slumbers deep,
Your Country's honor still to keep!
Her hour of peril now is here!
The liberty she holds so dear,
The rebel Southrons fain would see
Consigned to blackest infamy.
Say, shall a traitor banner wave
O'er ashes of our bygone brave?
By the names we most revere,
By the trust we hold so dear,
Sound abroad the wild alarm,
Till it nerves each patriot's arm!

II.

The air ye breathe as yet is free!
The song it sings is Liberty!
That boon for which our fathers died,
That boon so long our Country's pride,
That gift to every loyal son,

From the dear hand of Washington-
Ye offspring of the honored brave,
Say, shall it find a hireling grave,
While one more drop of blood remains,
To show where Freedom's spirit reigns?
As we bless the God we love,
As we hope for heaven above,

Let us all united stand,

For the honor of our land!

III.

By traitor hands shall Freedom die?
Iler sacred shrines in ruin lie?
NO! rings on every Northern breeze;
NO! comes from all our inland seas;
NO! bursts from every patriot's heart,
In country home, or city mart!

To arms!-and let the rebels feel

A FREEMAN'S blow, and blade of steel!
To arms to arms! let all the world
See FREEDOM's banner wide unfurled!
Let all the waiting nations know
We still have hearts to dare a foe!
That, trusting in our fathers' God,
We ne'er will heed a tyrant's rod!
That we WILL guard our LIBERTY!
That to the end WE WILL BE FREE!
Then, in one united host,
Let us stand at Duty's post,
And let all the nations sec
How we love our LIBERTY!

-Exeter (N. H.) News Letter, May 6.

Not backward at all at the President's call, Nor yet with the air of a toady,

The

gay little State, not a moment too late, Sent soldiers to answer for Rhody.

Loyal and true little Rhody!

Bully for you, little Rhody!
Governor Sprague was not very vague,
When he said, "Shoulder arms! little Rhody!"

Two regiments raised, and by ev'ry one praised,
Were soon on the march for head-quarters;
All furnished first-rate at the cost of their State,
And regular fighting dread-naughters!
Loyal and true little Rhody!

Bully for you, little Rhody!
Governor Sprague was not very vague,
When he said, "Shoulder arms! little Rhody!"

Let traitors look out, for there's never a doubt
That Uncle Abe's army will trip 'em;
And as for the loud Carolinian crowd,
Rhode Island alone, sir, can whip 'em!
Loyal and true little Rhody!
Bully for you, little Rhody!
Governor Sprague is a very good egg,
And worthy to lead little Rhody!

-N. Y. Sunday Mercury.

THE WILL FOR THE DEED.

BY CAROLINE A. MASON.

No sword have I, no battle-blade,
Nor shining spear; how shall I aid
My Country in her great Crusade?

I cannot sow with gold the sod,
Like Dragon's teeth, and from the clod
See armed men rise, battle-shod.

I may not stand in mart or hall,
And shout aloud great Freedom's call,
"Come to the rescue, one and all!"

I am a woman, weak and slight,
No voice to plead, no arm to fight,
Yet burning to support the Right.

How shall I aid my Country's cause?
How help avenge her trampled laws?
Alas, my woman's heart makes pause.
With oil and wine I may not go,
Where wounded men toss to and fro,
Beneath the invader's hand laid low.

My little child looks up to me,
And lisps a stronger, mightier plea;
God wills where he is, I should be.

Ah, well;-I am not needed! He
Who knows my heart, perchance, for me
Has other work than now I see.

"They also serve, who stand and wait,"Oh, golden words!-and not too late! My soul accepts her humbler fate.

Content to serve in any way,
Less than the least, if so I may
But hail the dawning of that day,

87

Well-judge if Freedom's sacred sign

Can moulder under ground, With the march of a million men o'erhead, Their banners eagle-crowned?

From Plymouth Rock to the Golden Gate,
A shout goes right and left;
The aliens' dreamful watch is done-
The sepulchre is cleft.

Weak hands! Heap clay on the Stars of God! They never shone before!

They rend the shroud, and they pierce the cloud; All hail, then, Thirty-Four!

-The Independent, June 14.

TO ELLSWORTH.

So young, so brave, so early called,
We mourn above his laurelled bier;
His name on every heart enrolled,

To friends, and home, and country dear.
Struck by the traitor's reckless hand,
Falling without a chance to raise
His sinewy arm with flashing brand;
And in the morning of his days,
Entering upon the eternal land.

He goes his waiting God to meet,
Without a sin, without a fear;

And as he walks the golden street Of yon fair far and wondrous sphere, The angels all their harps will bring, And hymn their holy welcoming.

J. W. F. -Wash. Sunday Morning Chronicle.

Sons of Northern sires arising,
"Display who gave you birth,"
And save the priceless treasure, won
By your brave fathers' worth,-
One country, free, united,

Called by one glorious name;
One banner floating o'er them,

From Lakes to Gulf, the same. Leave shop, and bench, and counter; Leave forge, and desk, and field; Leave axe, and spade, and hammer, For weaker hands to wiel'

Come from Penobscot's pine-clad banks,
Where the hardy woodman's axe
Hurls crashing down the giant tree
Upon the bear's fresh tracks;
From the clustered hills of granite,
Crowned with the noble name
Of him, whose home dishonored
Has left to us his fame;
From where Ticonderoga

Looks out on blue Champlain;
From the green shores of Erie,
The field of Lundy's Lane;
From Bennington and Plattsburg,
From Saratoga's plain,
From every field of battle

Where honored dead remain.

Up, Massachusetts! seize the sword
That won calm peace and free ;*

* Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem.

"And I saw heaven opened, and beheld a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself. And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean."-REV. XIX. 11, 12, 14.

To the last battle set, throughout the earth!
Not for vile lust of plunder or of power
The hosts of justice and eternal right

Unfurl their banner in this solemn hour.

A King rides forth, whose eyes, as burning fire, Wither oppression in their dazzling flame; And he hath sworn to right all human wrong, By the dread power of his mysterious name.

O'er all the earth resounds his trumpet-call.

The nations, waking from their dreary night, Are mustering in their ranks, and thronging on To hail the brightness of his rising light:

And all the armies that behind him ride,

Come in white raiment, spotless as the snow; "Freedom and Justice" is their battle-cry, And all the earth rejoices as they go.

Shoulder to shoulder ride the brother bands-
Brave hearts and tender, with undaunted eye;
With manly patience ready to endure,
With gallant daring resolute to die.