Beadle's Dime Song Book No. 1

The Little Blacksmith

We heard his hammer all day longOn the anvil ring, and ring,But he always came when the sun went down,To sit on the gate and sing;His little hands so hard and brownCross’d idly on his knee,And straw-hat lopping over cheeksAs red as they could be.Chorus.– The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’dHis heart with a happy ring,And that was why, when the sun went down,He came to the gate to sing.His blue and faded jacket, trimm’dWith signs of work, his feetAll bare and fair upon the grass,He made a picture sweet.For still his shoes, with iron shod,On the smithy wall he hung,As forth he came, when the sun went down,And sat on the gate and sung. Chorus.– The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’d, &cThe whistling rustic tending cows,Would keep in pastures near,And half the busy villagersLean from their doors to hear.And from the time the robin cameAnd made the hedges bright,Until the stubble yellow grew,He never miss’d a night. Chorus.– The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, &c

Over the Mountain

Over the mountain wave,See where they come;Storm cloud and wintry windWelcome them home;Yet where the sounding galeHowls to the sea,There their song peals alongDeep-toned and free.Chorus.– Pilgrims and wanderers.Hither we come;Where the free dare to be,This is our home.England hath sunny dales,Dearly they bloom;Scotia hath heather hills,Sweet their perfume;Yet through the wildernessCheerful we stray,Native land, native land,Home far away! Chorus.– Pilgrims and wanderers, &cDim grew the forest path,Onward they trod;Firm beat their noble hearts,Trusting in God;Gray men and blooming maids,High rose their song,Hear it sweep clear and deep,Ever along. Chorus.– Pilgrims and wanderers, &cNot theirs the glory wreathTorn by the blast;Heavenward their holy steps,Heavenward they pass’d;Green be their mossy graves,Ours be their fame,While their song peals alongEver the same. Chorus.– Pilgrims and wanderers, &c

Row, Row

Row! row! homeward we steer,Twilight falls o’er us,Hark! hark! music is near,Friends glide before us,Song lightens our labor,Sing as onward we go,Keep each with his neighborTime as we flow.Chorus.– Row! row! homeward we go,Twilight falls o’er us,Row! row! sing as we flow,Day flies before us.Row! row! sing as we go,Nature rejoices;Hark! how the hills as we flowEcho our voices;Still o’er the dark watersFar away we must roam,Ere Italy’s daughtersWelcome us home. Chorus.– Row! row, &cRow! row! see in the westLights dimly burning,Friends in yon harbor of restWait our returning;See now they burn clearer, —Keep time with the oar;Now, now we are nearerThat happy shore. Chorus.– Row! row, &cHome, home, daylight is o’er,Friends stand before us;Yet ere our boat touch the shore,Once more the chorus. Chorus.– Row! row, &c

The Miller of the Dee

There dwelt a miller hale and boldBeside the river Dee;He work’d and sang from morn till night,No lark more blithe than he;And this, the burden of his song,Forever used to be,“I envy nobody, no, not I,And nobody envies me.”“Thou’rt wrong my friend,” said old King Hal,“Thou’rt wrong as wrong can be;For could my heart be light as thine,I’d gladly change with thee;And tell me now what makes thee singWith voice so loud and free,While I am sad, though I am KingBeside the river Dee.”The miller smiled, and doff’d his cap,“I earn my bread,” quoth he“I love my wife, I love my friends,I love my children three;I owe no penny I can not pay,I thank the river Dee,That turns the mill, that grinds the cornTo feed my babes and me.”“Good friend,” said Hal, and sigh’d the while,“Farewell and happy be;But say no more, if thou’dst be true,That no one envies thee;Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,Thy mill my kingdom’s fee,Such men as thou are England’s boast,Oh, miller of the Dee.”

All’s for the Best

All’s for the best! be sanguine and cheerful;Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise,Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearing,Courage forever! is happy and wise.All’s for the best! if a man would but know it,Providence wishes that all may be blest,This is no dream of the pundit or poet,Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best!Chorus.– All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best.All’s for the best: set this on your standard,Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,Who to the shores of despair may have wander’dA way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove.All’s for the best! be a man, but confiding,Providence tenderly governs the rest,And the frail bark of his creature is guidingWisely and warily, all’s for the best! Chorus.– All’s for the best, &c,All’s for the best dispel idle terrors,Meet all your fears and your foes in the van,And in the midst of your dangers and errors,Trust like a child, and strive like a man.All’s for the best! unfailing, unbounded,Providence wishes that all may be blest,And both by wisdom and mercy surrounded,Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best!Chorus.– All’s for the best! All’s for the best!Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best.

Don’t be Angry Mother

Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let thy smiles be smiles of joy,Don’t be angry, mother, mother,Don’t be angry with thy boy.Years have flown since we have travers’dThe dark and stormy sea;Whilst your boy quite broken-heart’d,Ne’er has ceased to think of thee.Don’t be angry mother, mother,Let the world say what it will,Though I don’t deserve thy favor,Yet I fondly love thee still;We have lived and loved together,And our hearts ne’er knew a painBut forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.Pray, remember, mother, mother,I’ve been kneeling at thy feet,And I am dreaming of thee nightly,While reclining in my sleep;But forgive me, mother, mother,It will ease thy heart of pain,But forgive me, mother, mother,Oh, forgive thy boy again.

I am not Angry

I am not angry, dearest boy,No cloud is on my brow,Thou seest only smiles of joy,I am not angry now.A mother’s heart has yearn’d for thee,A mother’s tears have flown,A mother’s prayers been offer’d upTo the eternal throne:And though thou hast been wayward, boy,Misguided by thy will,A mother’s love is thine, my boyThou art my darling still.While thou wert on the rolling deep,Toss’d by the rugged sea,My only comfort was to weep —To weep and pray for thee.Over thy follies I have shed,Ah! many a bitter tear,And I have mourn’d for thee as deadThrough all the passing year;Yet I have pray’d that thou, my son,Might’st catch my latest breath,That thy dear hands, and thine alone,Might close my eyes in death.I do forgive thee now, my boy,It frees my heart from pain,My bosom throbs alone with joyTo see thy face again.Though thou hast wander’d far from me,I’ll yet forgive the past,For I am happy, boy, to seeThou hast return’d at last.Yes, now this heart is fill’d with joy,My sororws are all o’er,For thou art here again, my boy,And we shall part no more.

My Home in Kentuck

I long, how I long for my home in Kentuck,With its fields where I labor’d, so green,Where the possum and the coon, and the juicy wild duck,And the ’bacco so prime, I have seen:There I’ve fish’d from the banks of the Masella creek,And oft, in the shades of the night,Have I watch’d with my gun, nigh the old Salt Lick,For the game as it come to my sight.Chorus.– There is my old cabin home,There are my sisters and brother,There is my wife, joy of my life,My child, and the grave of my mother.That hut, my dear home, my log-cabin home,With the bench that I stood at the door,Where weary at night, from my work I would comeAnd there rest, ere I stepp’d on its floor.The calabash vine, that then clung to its walls,Oh! ’tis dear in my memory still to me,And my master, who lives in his own handsome halls,Not so happy as then I could be. Chorus.– There is my old cabin home, &cBut that cabin is far, far away from me now,I am far from the scenes that I love,Far away from that wife who once heard me vowThat forever I faithful would prove —My friends are still there, and still there is my child,And still there, all in life, I must crave —Still there is that mound, with its flowers so wild,That covers my old mother’s grave, Chorus.– There is my old cabin home, &c

Do they miss me at Home

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me!’Twould be an assurance most dear,To know that this moment some loved one,Were saying I wish he was here,To feel that the group at the firesideWere thinking of me as I roam,Oh, yes, ’twould be joy beyond measureTo know that they miss’d me at home,To know that they miss’d me at home.When twilight approaches, the seasonThat ever is sacred to song,Does some one repeat my name over,And sigh that I tarry so long?And is there a chord in the musicThat’s miss’d when my voice is away,And a chord in each heart that awakethRegret at my wearisome stay,Regret at my wearisome stay.Do they sit me a chair near the table,When evening’s home pleasures are nigh,When the candles are lit in the parlor,And the stars in the calm azure sky?And when the “good-nights” are repeated,And all lay them down to their sleep,Do they think of the absent, and waft meA whisper’d “good-night” while they weep,A whisper’d “good-night” while they weep?Do they miss me at home – do they miss meAt morning, at noon, or at night?And lingers one gloomy shade round themThat only my presence can light?Are joys less invitingly welcome,And pleasures less hale than before,Because one is miss’d from the circle,Because I am with them no more,Because I am with them no more!

Unfurl the Glorious Banner

Unfurl the glorious banner, let it sway upon the breeze,The emblem of our country’s pride, on land, and on the seasThe emblem of our liberty, borne proudly in the wars,The hope of every freeman, the gleaming stripes and stars.CHORUSThen unfurl the glorious banner out upon the welcoming air,Read the record of the olden time upon its radiance there;In the battle it shall lead us, and our banner ever be,A beacon-light to glory, and a guide to victory.The glorious band of patriots who gave the flag its birth,Have writ with steel in history, the record of its worth;From east to west, from sea to sea, from pole to tropic sun,Will eyes grow bright, and hearts throb high at the name of Washington. Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &cAh! proudly should we bear it, and guard this flag of ours,Borne bravely in its infancy amidst the darker hours;Only the brave may bear it, a guardian it shall beFor those who well have won the right to boast of liberty. Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &cThe meteor flag of seventy-six, long may it wave in pride,To tell the world how nobly the patriot fathers died:When from the shadows of their night outburst the brilliant sun,It bathed in light the stripes and stars, and lo! the field was won. Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c

My own Native Land

I’ve roved over mountain, I’ve cross’d over flood;I’ve traversed the wave-rolling sand;Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no,Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,Yet it was not my own native land.The right hand of friendship how oft I have grasp’dAnd bright eyes have smiled and looked bland,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West – in my own native land.Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’dIn the West – in my own native land.Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love,Where flourishes Liberty’s tree;The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!

Root Hog or Die

I’ll tell you of a story that happened long ago,When the English came to America, I s’pose you all do know,They couldn’t whip the Yankees, I’ll tell you the reason why,Uncle Sam made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.John Bull sent to Boston, as you shall plainly see,Forty large ships loaded clear up with tea;The Yankees wouldn’t pay the tax, I’ll tell the reason why,The Yankee boys made em sing, Root Hog or Die,They first met our armies on the top of Bunker Hill,When it came to fighting, I guess they got their fill;The Yankee boys chased them off, I’ll tell you the reason why,The Yankee boys made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Then they met our Washington at Yorktown,There the Yankees mow’d ’em down, like grass from the ground;Old Cornwallis gave up his sword, I’ll tell you the reason why,General Washington made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Then they came to Baltimore forty years ago,They tried to take North Point, but found it wouldn’t go;The Baltimoreans chased them off, I’ll tell the reason whyThe Yankee boys made ’em sing Root Hog or Die.Then they march’d their arms down to New Orleans,That was the place, I think, that Jackson gave ’em beans;They couldn’t take our cotton bales, I’ll tell the reason why,General Jackson made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.Now Johnny Bull has been kicking up a fuss,He’d better keep quiet or he’ll surely make it worse,We’re bound to have Cuba, I’ll tell you the reason why,For Uncle Sam will make ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.

Root Hog or Die,

No. 2

The greatest old nigger that ever I did see,Look’d like a sick monkey up a sour apple-tree;It don’t make a bit of difference to either you or IBig pig, little pig, root hog or die.CHORUSChief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters,Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters.Jog along.I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of newsI am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes;Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.Chief cook, &cThe Broadway niggers look so mighty grand,Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand,A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.Chief cook, &cOh, these Broadway gals look so mighty gay,With their hoop’d skirts promenading Broadway,Their bonnets on their shoulders, and their noses to the sky,They go it in the sun or shade – root hog or die.Chief cook, &c

Root Hog or Die,

No. 3

I am a jolly nigger as ever you did see,I come from Alabama just for to have a spree;I tought I come to York, dey do things up so high,Bound to have a spree, boys – root hog or die.CHORUSNew York gals – dey are so mighty tender,Have to put on hoops when dey go out on a bender.Jog along.I jump’d upon de boat as she started from de lebby,Dey put me in de hole in something of a hurry,De coal dey made me shovel, oh, how dey made me fly;Dat’s de way I come, boys – root hog or die.New York gals, &cYou tallk about your niggers dat grow up in de North,Can’t compete wid dis one dat sprouted in de South,Dey call me Blind Dick, kase I’ve only got one eye,Dat’s not my name, boys – root hog or die.New York gals, &cWhen I take a walk I look so mighty gay,All de gals I draw from over cross de way,Wid my long-tail coat, mustache to de eye,Dat’s what dey like, boys – root hog or die.New York gals, &cI’ll go back to Alabama wid a head full of nollige,And tell de folks dare I jis cum from college;Dey’ll take me for a lord, or somethin’ else, I’m thinkinI’se a mighty smart nigger, but I do my own drinkin’.New York gals, &c

Root Hog or Die,

No. 4

I am de greatest little darkey on de top ob de earth,New York is my home and de place ob my birthI do ply upon de banjo, and dar I don’t deny,I’m bound to be a sport, boys – root hog or die.CHORUSNow I’ll tell all you, boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing;Now I’ll tell all you boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing.Jog along.De shanghai coats and de stub-toed boots,Tight-legg’d pants, and all such fancy suits,Big Byron collars and mustaches to de eye,Dat’s de way to sport, boys – root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &cNow I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud,When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd,Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry,For to sing dis good old song, boys – root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &cYou may talk about your fiddles and de old tambo,But they cannot be compared with de old banjo,On it I’ll end my song, and I’m not ashamed to denyThe title that I give it, boys, was – root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &c

Twenty Years Ago

I have wander’d by the village, Tom – I’ve sat beneath the tree,Upon the school-house playing-ground which shelter’d you and me;But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to knowThat play’d with us upon the green just Twenty Years Ago.The grass is just as green, dear Tom, bare-footed boys at playAre sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay;But master sleeps upon the hill, all coated o’er with snow,That afforded us a sliding-place just Twenty Years Ago.The old school-house is alter’d some, the benches are replacedBy new ones, very like the same our penknives had defaced;But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro,The music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas Twenty Years Ago.The boys are playing some old game, beneath that same old tree,I do forget the name just now – you have play’d the same with me;On that same spot ’twas play’d with knives, by throwing so and so,The leaders had a task to do there Twenty Years Ago.The river is running just as still – the willows on its sideAre larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;The grape-vine swing is ruin’d now, where once we play’d the beau,And swung our sweethearts, pretty girls, just Twenty Years Ago.The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill, close by the spreading beach,Is very high-’twas once so low that we could almost reach,But in kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,To see how sadly I am changed since Twenty Years Ago.Down by the spring upon an elm you know I cut your name —Your sweetheart is just beneath it Tom – and you did mine the same,Some heartless wretch has peel’d the bark-’twas dying sure but slow,Just as the one whose name you cut did Twenty Years Ago.My lids have long been dry, dear Tom, but tears come in my eyes,I thought of her I loved so well – those early broken ties;I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strewUpon the graves of those we loved some Twenty Years Ago.Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea,But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me:But when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are call’d to go,I hope they’ll lay us were we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.

Star Spangled Banner

Oh! say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streamingAnd the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,Oh! say, does the star-spangled banner still wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?On the shore, dimly seen through the mist of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that, which the breeze o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceal’d, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner, Oh! long may it wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.And where is the band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war, and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.Oh! thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved home and war’s desolation;Bless’d with victory and peace may the Heaven-rescued landPraise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto-“In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

Song of the Sexton

Oh, the sights that I see as I ply my lone trade,In the moldering dust that a cent’ry hath made,Where the coffin-worm doth creep.I began long ago, when my life was still green,And my mattock and spade have been active, I ween,To fashion the grave so deep.Ho! I laugh as I dig, for they all seek my aid,To provide them a home with my mattock and spade.The rich man hath pass’d me with towering head,But I sang o’er his grave when the scorner was dead,And laugh’d as I shovel’d the mold.The hungry and wretched ne’er enter’d his door,His heart never bled for the wrongs of the poor,For the proud man well loved his gold.Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, for they wanted my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.I saw a young man in the fresh bloom of life,As he came to the church with a trembling young wife,Lift against me the finger of scorn.Oh, the revel was joyous, the dance lasted long;But the shriek of the widow soon banish’d the song —The young man died ere the morn!Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, when they came for my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.I saw a fair child bend her beautiful head,And cull the lone flowers that bloom o’er the dead,To form a pure simple wreath.The crimson of hectic suffused her pale face;In her eyes fearful lustre I trembled to trace,The herald of early death.But I pray that ere then, the deep home I have made,May close over me, and my mattock and spade.

Uncle Sam’s Farm

Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyrightOf all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,Oh! this glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best.We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurl’d,Here is a general invitation to the people of the world.Chorus.– Come along, come along – make no delay,Come from every nation, come from every way;Our land is broad enough – don’t be alarmed,For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm.St. Lawrence marks our northern line, as fast her waters flow,And the Rio Grande our southern bound, way down to Mexico;From the great Atlantic ocean, where the sun begins to dawn,Leaps across the Rocky Mountains, away to Oregon. Chorus.– Come along, come along, &cThe South may raise the cotton, and the West the corn and pork,New England manufactories shall do up the finer work;For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,Are just the thing for washing sheep and driving cotton mills. Chorus.– Come along, come along, &cOur fathers gave us liberty, but little did they dream,The grand results that flow along this mighty age of steam;For our mountains, lakes, and rivers are all a blaze of fire,And we send our news by lightning on the telegraphic wire. Chorus.– Come along, come along, &cYes, we are bound to beat the nations, for our motto’s go-ahead,And we’ll tell the foreign paupers that our people are well-fed;For the nations must remember that Uncle Sam is not a fool,For the people do the voting, and the children go to school. Chorus.– Come along, come along, &c

Wait for the Wagon

Will you come with me, my Phillis, dear, to yon blue mountain free,Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me.It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.CHORUS. – Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,And we’ll all take a ride.Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet,I have a cabin, Phillis, and something good to eat.Come listen to my story, it will relieve my heart,So jump into the wagon, and off we will start.Wait for the wagon, &cDo you believe, my Phillis, dear, old Mike with all his wealth,Can make you half so happy, as I with youth and health?We’ll have a little farm, a horse, a pig, and cow,And you will mind the dairy, while I do guide the plow.Wait for the wagon, &cYour lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat,All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet,It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.Wait for the wagon, &cTogether on life’s journey, we’ll travel till we stop,And if we have no trouble, we’ll reach the happy top.Then come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my lovely bride,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.Wait for the wagon, &c