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Civil War Songs - Confederate. Civil War Songs - Confederate. Many of these song lyrics and poems have been long.

The archive centers on songs that were popular in the. Confederate states during the Civil War.  In his book "War. Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy 1. H. M. Wharton composed a wonderful foreword. These songs and poems belong to the Nation. Although our friends at the North will smile at some, wince at others. It is all over now; we are more united than ever and shall never fall.

My object has been to rescue from oblivion. No North, no South, no East, no West, but one and. H. M. Wharton. Cowboy Songs Index. Cowboy Songs 1. Cowboy Songs 2. Cowboy Songs 3. Cowboy Songs 4. Cowboy Songs  5. Cowboy Songs 6.

Civil War Songs. Civil War Songs Confederate. Watch Taking Stock Online Hoyts. Victorian Songs. Victorian Ballads.

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Vintage Songbooks. A. N  O  P Q  R. Y  Z  The most authentically digitally remastered Civil War. Music ever recorded. Performed by the best studio artists recording. The official website for the product was launched June of. At the website. realcivilwarmusic.

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Dixie, Battle Hymn of the Republic. Yellow Rose of Texas, When Johny Comes Marching Home Again, as well as. Aura Lea, The Battle Cry of Freedom. Rebel Soldier, Hard Times Come Again No More, Old Dan Tucker, Bonnie.

Blue Flag and Arkansas Traveler. A history of each song is also.

Digital downloads of all twelve tracks is $9. CD. By George Herbert Sass. Watchman, what of the night? Through the city's darkening street,Silent and slow the guardsmen go On their long and lonely beat. Darkly, drearily down.

Falleth the wintry rain; And the cold, gray mist hath the roof- tops kissed, As it glides o'er town and plain. Beating against the windows,The sleet falls heavy and chill, And the children draw nigher 'round hearth and fire, As the blast shrieks loud and shrill. Silent is all without,Save the sentry's challenge grim, And a hush sinks down o'er the weary town, And the sleeper's eyes are dim. Watchman, what of the night?

Hark! from the old church- tower Rings loud and clear on the misty air,The chime of the midnight hour. But another sound breaks in, A summons deep and rude, The roll of the drum, and the rush and hum Of a gathering multitude. And the dim and flickering torch.

Sheds a red and lurid glare, O'er the long dark line, whose bayonets shine Faintly, yet sternly there. A low, deep voice is heard: "Rest on your arms, my men." Then the muskets clank through each serried rank,And all is still again. Pale faces and tearful eyes. Gaze down on that grim array, For a rumor hath spread that that column dread Marcheth ere break of day.

Marcheth against "the rebels,"Whose camp lies heavy' and still, Where the driving sleet and cold rain beat. On the brow of a distant hill. And the mother's heart grows faint, - As she thinks of her darling one, Who perchance may lie 'neath that wintry sky, Ere the long, dark night be done.

Pallid and haggard, too,Is the cheek of the fair young wife; And her eyes grow dim as she thinks of him. She loveth more than life. For fathers, husbands, sons,Are the "rebels" the foe would smite, And earnest the prayer for those lives so dear,And a bleeding country's right.

And where their treasure is,There is each loving heart; And sadly they gaze by the torches' blaze, And the tears unbidden start. Is there none to warn the camp,None from that anxious throng? Ah, the rain beats down o'er plain and town— The way is dark and long.

No man is left behind,None that is brave and true, And the bayonets, bright in the lurid light With menace stern shine through. Guarded is every street,Brutal the hireling foe; Is there one heart here will boldly dare So brave a deed to do? Look! in her still, dark room,Alone a woman kneels, With Care's deep trace on her pale, worn face, And Sorrow's ruthless seals. Wrinkling her placid brow,A matron, she, and fair, Though wan her cheek, and the silver streak Gemming her glossy hair. A moment in silent prayer. Her pale lips move, and then,Through the dreary night, like an angel bright, On her mission of love to men. She glideth upon her way,Through the lonely, misty street, shrinking with dread as she hears the tread.

Of the watchman on his beat. Onward, aye, onward still,Far past the weary town, Till languor doth seize on her feeble knees, And the heavy hands hang down. But bravely she struggles on,Breasting the cold, dank rain, And, heavy and chill, the mist from the hill Sweeps down upon the plain.

Hark! far behind she hears. A dull and muffled tramp, But before her the gleam of the watch- fire's beam Shines out from the Southern camp. She hears the sentry's challenge,Her work of love is done; She has fought a good fight, and on Fame's proud height Hath a crown of glory won. Oh, they tell of a Tyrol maiden,Who saved from a ruthless foe Her own fair town, 'mid its mountains brown, Three hundred years ago. And I've read in tales heroic How a noble Scottish maid Her own life gave, her king to save From the foul assassin's blade. But if these, on the rolls of honor,Shall live in lasting fame, Oh, close beside, in grateful pride,We'll write this matron's name.

And when our fair- haired children. Shall cluster round our knee, With wondering gaze, as we tell of the days When we swore that we would be free. We'll tell them the thrillling story,And we'll say to each childish heart, "By this gallant deed, at thy country's need,Be ready to do thy part."By Morton Bryan Wharton.

D. D. IAm thinking. Of a Christmas of long ago, When the air was filled with gladness, And the earth was wrapped in snow; When the stars like diamonds glistened. And the night was crisp and cold, As I eagerly watched and listened. For the Santa Claus of old.

The forest was. robbed of its treasures,The house was a mass of green, And I reveled in Christmas pleasures, At the dawn of Aurora's sheen; Some' talked of the Savior's mission, But I of my pretty toys; Some knelt in devout petition— I romped and played with the boys. We went to the pond for skating,To the stable to take a ride, And we found new joys awaiting,To whatever spot we hied; But the climax of my story. Was that evening's fireworks show! Went out in a blaze of glory—That Christmas of long ago! But in sadness I think of that Christmas,For many then happy and gay Have gone to the realm of silence And sleep in their beds of clay; The hands that filled kindly my stockings, I shall grasp in this world no more, But when at Heaven's portals I'm knocking They'll open the beautiful door. They will lead me in tenderness clinging,And place me before the throne, Where the choirs angelic are singing.

And the heavenly gifts are strown,And there in the realm of glory,With my loved ones at my side, I'll repeat the old Bethlehem story And join in that Christmas tide. AH. well I remember that long summer's day When, round about Richmond our broken ranks lay. Week in and week out they had been at the front, And bore without flinching the battle's fierce brunt. Till, shattered and weary, we needed repose "Sre we met in death- struggle our numberless foes. Our knapsacks were empty, our uniforms worn, Our feet, from long marching, were naked and torn; But not a man grumbled in the rank or the file, We bore all our hardships with a joke and a smile, For Jackson was with us, and under his eye, Each soldier determined to do or to die. That evening old Jack had us out on review,When a glance down the line showed us all something new—Eighty- seven young boys from old Baltimore,Who had run the blockade and that day joined the corps. Their clothes were resplendent, all new, spick and span—Twas plain that a tailor had measured each man.

When we learned who they were what a shout we did raise! How we cheered our new allies, the " Baltimore Grays!" There were Lightfoots and Carters, and Howards and Kanes, The grandsons of Carroll, the nephews of Gaines, And in each of the brave boys dressed up in a row, You could see the pure blood of the proud Huguenot.