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col.w.s.hawkins.in _camp chase ventilator_, 1864._airbonnie blue flag._ though were a band of prisoners, let each be firm and true, for noble souls and hearts of oak, the foe can neer subdue.we then will turn us homeward, to those we love so dear; for peace and happiness, my boys, oh, give a hearty cheer! chorus.hurrah! hurrah! for peace and home, hurrah! hurrah for the bonnie white flag, that ends this cruel war! the sword into the scabbard, the musket on the wall, the cannon from its blazing throat, no more shall hurl the ball; from wives and babes and sweethearts, no longer will we roam, for evry gallant soldier boy, shall seek his cherished home.chorus.our battle banners furled away, no more shall greet the eye, nor beat of angry drums be heard, nor bugles hostile cry.the blade no more be raised aloft, in conflict fierce and wild.the bomb shall roll across the sward, the plaything of a child.chorus.no palefaced captive then shall stand, behind his rusted bars, nor from the prison window bleak, look sadly to the stars; but out amid the woodlands green, on bounding steed hell be, and proudly from his heart shall rise, the anthem of the free.chorus.the plow into the furrow then, the fields shall wave with grain, and smiling children to their schools, all gladly go again.the church invites its grateful throng, and mans rude striving cease, while all across our noble land, shall glow the light of peace.chorus.bombardment of vicksburg.dedicated with respect and admiration to maj.gen.earl van dorn.for sixty days and upward a storm of shell and shot, rained round as in a flaming shower, but still we faltered not! if the noble city perish, our grand young leader said, let the only walls the foe shall scale be ramparts of the dead! for sixty days and upward the eye of heaven waxed dim, and even throughout gods holy morn, oer christians prayer and hymn, arose a hissing tumult, as if the fiends of air, strove to engulf the voice of faith in shriekings of despair.there was wailing in the houses, there was trembling on the marts, while the tempest raged and thundered midst the silent thrill of hearts; but the lord, our shield, was with usand ere a month had sped, our very women walked the streets, with scarce one throb of dread.and the little children gambolledtheir faces purely raised, just for a wondering moment as the huge bombs whirled and blazed! then turning with silvry laughter to the sports which children love, thrice mailed in the sweet instinctive thought that the good god watched above.[18] yet the hailing bolts fell faster from scores of flameclad ships, and above us, denser, darker, grew the conflicts wide eclipse, till a solid cloud closed oer like a type of doom and ire, whence shot a thousand quivring tongues of forked and vengeful fire.but the unseen hands of angels, these death shafts warned aside, and the dove of heavenly mercy, ruled oer the battle tide; in the houses ceased the wailing, and through the warscarred marts, the people strode with the step of hope to the music in their hearts.death of stonewall jackson.music by c.blamphin.on a bright may morn in sixtythree, and eager for the action, on a battlefield for liberty, stood gallant stonewall jackson.both flesh and blood alike the same, they strove to gain each others fame, and long may histry pen the name, of gallant stonewall jackson.chorus.who was his soldiers pride, and for his country died, on a bright may day in sixtythree, and ready for the action, on a battlefield for liberty stood gallant stonewall jackson.a man more kind was never born, in battle no one bolder; his loss all noble hearts will mourn, this gallant faithful soldier; for when the word was duty, he was first to fight for victory; oh! may he live in history, the gallant stonewall jackson.chorus.but alas! his time was come, to see our promised land; his comrades fatal gun, shot through his arm and hand; the almightys will was read, upon his noble brow; my race is run, he said.death has its victim now.chorus.the southern captive.by capt.sam houston.[the music of this song can be obtained of the oliver ditson co., boston, mass.] softly comes the twilight stealing gently through my prison bars, while from out the vault of heaven, faintly glimmering come the stars; well i know my mothers weeping for her longlost wandering boy does she know that still im living? even that would give her joy.no, they tell her that im sleeping neath the turf on shilohs plain; that she neer will see her wanderernever on this earth again; oh, my poor heart sinks within me, as the months roll slowly by, and it seems in this cold northland a lone captive i must die! yes, far away from friends and kindred, without a hand to mark my grave and not upon a field of glory ill sleep amid the southern brave; mother! yes, your boy is dying! soon hell pass through deaths dark wave, and the wintry wind be sighing oer a captives lonely grave.the volunteer; or, it is my countrys call.by harry mccarthy.i leave my home and thee, dear, with sorrow at my heart, it is my countrys call, dear, to aid her, i depart; and on the bloodred battle plain, well conquer or well die; tis for our honor and our name, we raise the battlecry

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