Chorus.-Gently her hand o'er my forehead she'd press, Trying to free me from pain and distress; Kindly she'd say to me. "Be of good cheer, Mother will comfort you, mother is here."

If she were with me, I soon would forget
My pain and my sorrow, no more would I fret;
One kiss from her lips, or one look from her eye,
Would make me contented and willing to die.
Gently her hand o'er my forehead she'd press,
Trying to free me from pain and distress:
Kindly she'd say to me. Be of good cheer,
Mother will comfort you, mother is here."
Chorus.-Gently her hand, &c.

Cheerfully, faithfully, mother would stay
Always beside me, by night and by day;
If I should murmur or wish to complain,
Her gentle voice would soon calm me again.
Sweetly a mother's love shines like a star,
Brightest in darkness, when daylight 's afar;
In clouds or in sunshine, pleasure or pain,
Mother's affection is ever the same.

J

Chorus. Gently her hand, &c.

A NATION MOURNS HER CHIEF.

Composed and sung by H. 8. THOMPSON.

While a country's heart was throbbing,
Full of joy for victories won,

While the Stars and Stripes were waving
O'er each cottage, ship and dome;

Came upon the winged lightning,

Words that turned each joy to dread,

Froze with horror, as we listen,

Our loved Chieftain, LINCOLN's dead!

Chorus:

Twine our flag with death's dark emblem, twine it! Mingle crape and laurel leaf, daurel leaf!

Weep, true heart, and pay thy homage,

For a nation mourns her chief!

War's dark clouds, that long hung o'er us,
Rolled their gloomy folds away,
All the world seemed anxious waiting
For the promised peaceful day.
But the fearful blow impending,

Fell on his devoted head;
And from every town and hamlet

Comes the wail, Our Chieftain's dead!

Weep! oh, weep! poor bleeding nation,
For the patriot spirit filed!
All untold our country's future,
Buried with the silent dead!
God of nations! God of battles!
To our country send relief;
Turn bereavement to a blessing,

While we mourn our murder'd Chief.

CARS ON THE TRACK.

Sung by HARRY PELL.

I went to de depot,

Too, de oder day,

The cars were a coming,

So de people say;

The people were a ruining all around,
Crying dat de Bulgine come to town!

Chorus.-Ding, dong bell!

Don't you hear de bell?
Don't you hear de bulgine?
Clear de track, we are coming!

We all took a seat,

And neber said a word,
Went through the country,

Just like a humming bird;

Running through fences,
Passing over bars—

I tell you it's fun

To ride on the cars.

The third and last verses, the audience will imagine themselves on the cars, as we are going so fast the words are omitted.

I'LL PRAY FOR THEE.

Sung by O. H. CARTER.

Say not this heart can alter,
Think not that now we sever,

I can forget thee never

What e'er our dark'ning fate may be,
While life's last accents falter,

Yet will I pray for thee.

Chorus.

I'll ever bless, I'll pray for thee,
I'll pray, I'll bless, I'll pray for thee,
I'll pray, I'll bless, I'll pray for thee,
I'll ever bless, I'll pray for thee.

Here, though the hopes forsake me
Which that poor heart so treasured,
Soon will its hours be measured,
And pitying Heaven my sorrows see-
Soon to its refuge take me,

And there I'll pray for thee.
I'll pray for thee, &c.

KISS ME, MOTHER, ERE I DIE.

Sung by JAMES A. Barney.

Kiss me, Mother, ere I die,

Let me feel thy fond caressing

Ere I in the cold grave lie;

Give, oh! give me back thy blessing,

As you blessed me when a boy.

When of life's bliss I am dreaming,

Tears have wrecked those ships of joy,
And no other star is beaming.
Oh! kiss me, Mother, ere I die,
Let me feel thy fond caressing,
Ere I in the cold grave lie-
Kiss me, Mother, ere I die.
Chorus.

Kiss me, Mother, ere I die,

Once again your child caress,

Soothe, oh! soothe my dying hours, dear Mother,

Kiss me-kiss me-ere I die!

Kiss me, Mother, ere I sleep,
Never more on earth awaking,-
Nay I would not have thee weep,
While my soul its flight is taking.
Do not weep for me, who goes

From a world of care and sorrow,
To a sweet and last repose,

Where there comes no fading morrow.

Oh! kiss me, Mother, ere I die,

Let me feel thy fond caressing

Ere I in the cold grave lie

Kiss me, Mother, ere I die.

Chorus.-Kiss me, Mother, &c.

THE GAL WITH A ROGUISH EYE.
Composed and sung by FRED. WILSON.

Oh! I think it's very pleasant
To promenade the street,

And gaze upon the fashions

Of each pretty girl you meet.

They've such little hats and bonnets,
And boots (cost nine or ten),

Which makes them altogether

More expensive than the men.

Chorus. Oh, dear! it makes me feel so shy,
Whenever I meet upon the street
The gal with a roguish eye!

Oh, dear! it makes me feel so shy,
Whenever I meet upon the street
The gal with a roguish eye!

Among the smiling faces,

There's one above the rest,

Who dresses with the greatest care,

And of the very best.

She don't appear to mind me

Whenever she's passing by,

But drops her veil clear o'er her face,
To hide her roguish eye.

I went home for consolation,

To ma, the other day,

And told her all about my love
With this sweet maiden gay.

"Good gracious bless the darling boy !"
These words my mother said,
"Why don't you dress up in your best,
And go and spark the maid?"

I mustered all my courage up,
And called one afternoon,
And met her father face to face:
He kicked me from the room.
He lifted me so neatly,

Clear out into the street,
And landed me upon my head,
Instead of upon my feet.

I regained my scattered senses,"
And began to look about,
When I heard a voice of sweetness sing,
"Does mother know you're out?"

I turned the corner in a rage,
'Midst laughter, yell, and din,
Determined then to drown myself,
But found I couldn't swim.

MEET ME DOWN BY THE SEA.

Composed and sung by H. S. THOMPSON.
Meet me, oh dearest one, down by the sea :-
Just at the set of sun down by the sea;
When the soft zephyrs steal over the deep,
Hushing the waves to a soft dreamy sleep,
Then would I gladly hold converse with thee,
Down by the sea, dearest, down by the sea.

Come when the day is o'er, down by the sea;
To the rock bordered shore, down by the sea;
When the last sunbeams are sinking to rest,
Over the hills in the bright golden west,
Giving a promise of morning to be,
Meet me, oh dearest one, down by the sea.