He heard her called, and he heard her blessed,
With many a patriot's parting breath;
And ere his soul to itself confessed,

Love leaped to life in those vigils of death.

"Oh, fly to your home!" came a whisper dread, "For now the pestilence walks by night." "The greater the need of me here," she said, And bared her arm for the lancet's bite.

Was there death, green death, in the atmosphere?
Was the bright steel poisoned? Who can tell!
Her weeping friends gathered beside her bier,
And the clergyman told them all was well.

Well-alas that it should be so!

When a nation's debt reaches reckoning-dayWell for it to be able, but woe

To the generation that 's called to pay !

Down from the long gray hospital came

Every boy in blue who could walk the floor; The sick and the wounded, the blind and the lame, Formed two long files from her father's door.

There was grief in many a manly breast,
While men's tears fell as the coffin passed;
And thus she went to the world of rest,
Martial and maidenly up to the last.

And that youngest surgeon, was he to blame?—

He held the lancet-Heaven only knows. No matter; his heart broke all the same, And he laid him down, and never arose.

So Death received, in his greedy hand,
Two precious coins of the awful price
That purchased freedom for this dear land-
For master and bondman-yea, bought it twice.

Such fates too often such women are for!
God grant the Republic a large increase,
To match the heroes in time of war,

And mother the children in time of peace.

[The strong hold which this song and the three which follow it ("Marching thro' Georgia," "The Battle-Cry of Freedom" and "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp") had upon the favor of the Union soldiers during the war entitles them to insertion here in spite of their lack of poetic merit. The critics, from the time of Mr. Richard Grant White's collection until now, have condemned them as doggerel, but songs that were sung with enthusiasm by all the soldiers of the republic during the dark years of the Civil War cannot be denied the possession of merit, whether criticism is able to recognize it or not.-EDITOR.]

JOHN

BODY.

OHN BROWN'S body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,
John Brown's body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,

John Brown's body lies a-mould'ring in the grave,
His soul is marching on!

Chorus.-Glory! Glory Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory Hallelujah
Glory! Glory Hallelujah!
His soul is marching on.

He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord!
His soul is marching on.-Chorus.

John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back.
His soul is marching on.-Chorus.

His pet lambs will meet him on the way,

And they'll go marching on.-Chorus.

They'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
As they go marching on.-Chorus.

Now for the Union let's give three rousing cheers, As we go marching on.

Hip, hip, hip, hip, Hurrah!