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What's glory but pride ? A vain bubble is fame,

And riot the pleasure of wine ;
What riches but trouble ? and title's a name,

But friendship and love are divine.

STAND TO YOUR GUNS, MY HEARTS

OF OAK.

[Music by T. CARTER.]
Stand to your guns, my hearts of oak,
Let not a word

on board be spoke,
Victory soon will crown the joke;

Be silent, and be ready.
Ram home your guns, and sponge them well,
Let us be sure the balls will tell,
The cannons' roar shall sound their knell;,

Be steady, boys, be steady.
Not yet, nor yet-reserve your fire,
I do desire : - Fire !
Now the elements do rattle,
The gods, amazed, behold the battle,

A broadside, my boys !
See the blood in purple tide
Trickle down her batter'd side ;
Wing'd with fate the bullets fly;-
Conquer, boys, or bravely die.
Hurs destruction on your foes.

She sinks—huzza!
To the bottom down she goes.

“WELCOME HOME." J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by T, WRIGHTON. Oh! none

can tell but those who've roved Some bleak, some desert land afar, Apart from all the early loved,

How sad and drear life's moments are.

But none that heavenly bliss can feel,

Save those who thus are forced to roam,
A few kind accents may reveal,

From lips that bid' us “Welcome home.'
I've sat within the stranger's door,

Where alien lips spoke kindly too,
They but reminded me the more,

My own dear early friends, of you ;
A stranger's welcome's ever dear,

We prize it when afar we roam,
And almost fancy that we hear

The voice that bids us “Welcome home."
The silvery brook goes murmuring by,

The wand'ring wind hath pleasant tone,
The lark he carols in the sky,

All Nature music's power must own;
But there's a music far more dear,

That greets us when we cease to roam,
When sweetly falls upon the ear

The voice that bids us “ Welcome home."

THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.

[H. FIELDING and R. LEVERIDGE.] When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food, It onnobled our hearts and enriched our blood; Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good.

Oh! the roast beef of Old England,

And oh! the old English roast beef.
But since we have learn'd from effeminate France
To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance,
We are fed up with nothing but vain complaisance.

Oh! the roast beef, &c.
Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong,
And kept open house with good cheer all day long,
Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song,

Oh! the roast beef, &c.

When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne,
Ere coffee and tea, and such slip-slops were known,
The world was in terror if e'en she did frown.

Oh! the roast beef, &c.
In those days, if fleets did presume on the main,
They seldom or never return'd back again;
As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain.

Oh! the roast beef, &c. Oh, then we had stomachs to eat and to fight, And when wrongs were cooking, to set ourselves right But now we're a-hum!-I could, but,-good-night!

Oh! the roast beef, &c.

THE POPE HE LEADS A HAPPY LIFE.

[CHARLES JAMES LEVER.]
The Pope he leads a happy life,
He knows no care of married strife ;
He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,
I would the Pope's gay lot were mine;
But yet all happy's not his life,
He loves no maid nor wedded wife,
Nor child has he to bless his

hope,
I would not that I were the Pope.
The Sultan better pleases me,
He leads a life of jollity;
Has wives as many as he will,
I would the Sultan's throne then fil !
But vet he's not a happy man,
He must obey the Alcoran;
And dares not taste one drop of wine,-
I would not that his lot were mine.
Then here I'll take my lowly stand,
I'll drink my own, my native land :
I'll kiss my maiden's lip divine,
And drink the best of Rhenish wine

And when my maiden kisses me,
I'll fancy I the Sultan be,
And when my cheery glass I tope,
I'll fancy that I am the Pope.

GERTY'S SONG OF THE STAR.* J, E, CARPENTER.]

[Music by 8. GLOVER The past has many memories,

But none so sweet as mine,
As I recall the days when first

I saw yon bright star shine ;
I deem'd it then a lamp to guide

Earth's lone ones by its ray,
And wonder'd who could light it up,

It seem'd so far away-
So large, so bright, but still it seem'd

A mystery to be,
That lonely star that like a friend

Look'd kindly down on me!
I lay upon my lonely bed,

And then I seem'd to trace,
As beaming from that golden star,

A bright and shining face;
And when at last there came a friend

Who kindly spoke to me,
And told me who lit up the star,

And why its light we see-
So large, so bright, no longer 'twas

A mystery to see
That lonely star that, like a friend,

Look'd kindly down on me.
Now often when at even-tide

In pensive mood I stray,
And call to mind the form of one

Long pass'd from earth away; * This and the following five songs are founded on the popular novel of "The Lamplighter."

I know there is a home beyond

Yon bright and fadeless star,
And deem that He is watching me

From those bright realms afar.
A lamp to light my earthly path,

That star still seems to be,
A watchful eye, whose friendly beam

Looks kindly down on me.

WE'LL BIDE TOGETHER. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by H. FARMER. Great tears roll'd down his rugged cheek,

Who ne'er for years had wept,
Till pillow'd on his aged breast

The little outcast slept;
And while he view'd the early marks

Of sorrow and neglect,
Some pitying angel bade him then

That orphan child protect.
“Thou canst not brave," he softly said,

Poor bird, the bitter weather,
Alone in this bleak world-ah no!

Please God-we'll bide together.”

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A smile was on the old man's face,

He wore a look of pride,
As Gerty, when the spring returned,

Came tripping by his side ;
Her trembling hand in his he held,

"Ah! Heav'n 'twas kind to me,'
He said, “who sent this orphan child,

My joy in age to be.
'Tis sweet to rove this old green lane,

And feel this balmy weather,
And know that I am not alone-

Thank Heav'n! we bide together."

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