Then all hail, welcome day,
When the Demon's dread sway
Can no longer enchain with his powers to slay,
For the pure pledge of temperance, oh, it can save
poor inebriate from the drunkard's sad grave.

The

2 The sweet, happy home, once as gay as the spring,
Foul alcohol filled with his black desolation ;
And long was the reign of that vile monster-king,
Ere day dawned the hope of a bless'd reformation;
But that pledge in its might

Won the heart to the right,

And I sound now the notes of the victor in fight, For the pure pledge of temperance; oh, it can save The poor inebriate from the drunkard's sad grave.

3 Awake, oh, awake, let us slumber no more

On the brink of such RUIN so carelessly dreaming; But rejoice now, my friends, - - the dark cloud is o'er, And bright on our pathway fair temperance is beaming;

Whilst to the vile dust

66

Fall soon the tyrant must,"
And the triumph insure, as our cause is most just,
For the pure pledge of temperance, oh, it can save
The poor inebriate from the drunkard's sad grave.

A

THE GUSHING FOUNTAIN.

Air, "Annie of the Vale."

SONG for the fountain

That springs on the mountain,
And gushes forth so beautiful and clear
Through deep gorges streaming,
In bright sunlight gleaming,

And singing in the balmy summer air.

CHORUS.

Come, come, come with me,
The bright clear fountain to see;
Come, drink from its treasure,
Long life, health, and pleasure,
From water, pure water, fresh and free.

2 From the hill-side 'tis flowing,
Rich pleasure bestowing,

Its cooling draughts relieve the thirsty soul;
All nature 'tis blessing,

So sweet and refreshing,

No evil lurks within its flowing bowl.
Come, come, come, &c.

CHORUS.

3 'Tis God, my protector,
Who sends me this nectar,
To nourish and invigorate my frame ;
Nor will I forsake it,

But joyfully take it,

And for its richness bless my CHORUS.-Come, come, come, &c.

Maker's name.

SONGS.

TO MY OWN DEAR SARAH.

By L. K. Coonley.

O sweet the moments glide, When thou art by my side, That time seems but a joyful dream; E'en hours so happy flee,

When thou art near to me,

That life appears some heavenly gleam!

2 The radiance of thine eye,
Lent from the azure sky,

In its own ethereal blue,

Speaks joy to every nerve,
And bids me freely serve

A love that meets my own so true!

3 When "hand in hand" we grasp, And thy loved form I clasp,

And feel thy heart beat pure and free; I own the flame of love

Seems lent from heaven above,
And I can almost worship thee!

4 And when again I find,
With willing heart and mind,

Our lips in holy union kiss,
I own a joy that feels

Beyond what tongue reveals,

A thrill of almost heavenly bliss!

DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME?

O they miss me at home, do they miss me?

To know that this moment some loved one
Were saying, I wish he were here!
To feel that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam;
Oh, yes, 'twould be joy beyond measure
To know that they miss me at home,
To know that they missed me at home.
2 When twilight approaches, the season
That 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 music

That's missed when my voice is away ?
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay?
Regret at my wearisome stay?

3 Do they set 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 me
A whispered "good-night," while they weep?
A whispered "good-night," while they weep?
4 Do they miss me at home, do they miss me,
At morning, at noon, or at night?
And hovers one gloomy shade round them
That only my presence can light?

Are joys less invitingly welcome,

And pleasures less hale than before, Because one is missed from the circle, Because I am with them no more? Because I am with them no more?

THERE'S

DARLING NELLY GRAY.

Music to be had at Oliver Ditson's, Boston.

HERE'S a low, green valley on the old Kentucky shore,

Where I've whiled many happy hours away,

A sitting and a singing by the little cottage door,
Where lived my darling Nelly Gray.

Oh! my poor Nelly Gray, they have taken you away,
And I'll never see my darling any more;

I'm sitting by the river, and I'm weeping all the day, For you've gone from the old Kentucky shore.

2 One night I went to see her, but " she's gone!" the neighbors say,

The white man bound her with his chain;
They have taken her to Georgia for to wear her life
As she toils in the cotton and the cane.
CHORUS. Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c.

away,

3 My canoe is under water, and my banjo is unstrung; I'm tired of living any more;

My eyes shall look downward and my songs shall be unsung,

While I stay on the old Kentucky shore.
CHORUS. Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c.

4 My eyes are getting blinded, and I cannot see my way;
Hark! there's somebody knocking at the door,-
Oh! I hear the angels calling, and I see my Nelly. Gray,
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

Oh! my darling Nelly Gray, up in heaven there they say
That they'll never take you from me any more.
I'm a coming, coming, coming, as the angels clear the way,
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

GENTLE ANNIE.

THOU

wilt come no more,

gentle Annie,

Like a flower thy spirit did depart;

Thou art gone, alas, like the many

That have bloomed in the summer of my heart.