Immortal Songs of Camp and Field

Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I’ll protect it now.
’Twas my forefather’s hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not!”

And these other lines from My Mother’s Bible, equally well known, —

“This book is all that’s left me now: —
Tears will unbidden start —
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree:
My mother’s hand this Bible clasped;
She, dying, gave it me.”

And what schoolboy of twenty-five years ago does not remember the song of The Whip-poor-will, the first verses of which always aroused his sympathetic interest? —

“Why dost thou come at set of sun,
Those pensive words to say?
Why whip poor Will? – what has he done —
And who is Will, I pray?

“Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill
A suppliant at my door? —
Why ask of me to whip poor Will?
And is Will really poor?”

Morris had traveled abroad rather widely for that day, but instead of its weaning him from his native land, it made it all the more dear to him. He set this forth in a well-known song entitled, I’m with You once Again, which so accurately voices the feelings of thousands of loyal American travelers that it is worth repeating here: —

“I’m with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?

“Since last, with spirits wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I’ve wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land;
I’ve seen fair realms of the earth,
By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.

“In other countries when I heard
The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture thrilled the heart.

“My native land! I turn to you
With blessing and with prayer,
Where man is brave, and woman true
And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave,
Against the world combined,
And friends a welcome – foes a grave,
Within our borders find.”

In this song we see the spirit in which was written The Flag of our Union. Ten years before the War of the Rebellion, when the mutterings of the coming storm were already in the air, this poet and traveler, who had found his country’s flag such an inspiration when roving in foreign lands, poured out his heart in this hymn to the Flag. It was set to music by William Vincent Wallace, and was very popular in war times. It is worthy of popularity so long as the Flag of the Union shall wave.

JOHN BROWN’S BODY

John Brown’s body lies mouldering in the grave!
John Brown’s body lies mouldering in the grave!
John Brown’s body lies mouldering in the grave!
His soul is marching on.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
His soul is marching on.

The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
The stars of heaven are looking kindly down!
On the grave of old John Brown!

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.

John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back!
John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back!
John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back!
His soul is marching on.

    – Charles S. Hall.
No prophet is ever able to foretell what will catch the popular ear. The original John Brown song, written by Miss Edna Dean Proctor, is certainly far more coherent and intelligible than the lines which have formed the marching song for over a million men, and have held their own through a generation. It is well worth repeating here: —