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We scorn to wear a bit of silk,
A bit of Northern lace,
But make our homespun dresses up,
And wear them with a grace.
And now, young- man, a word to you :
If you would win the fair, Go to the field where honor calls,
And win your lady there. Remember that our brightest smiles
Are for the true and brave,
And that our tears are all for those
Who fill a soldier's grave.
THE BANNER SONG.
By James B. Marshall.
Up, up with the banner, the foe is before us, His bayonets bristle, his sword is unsheathed,
Charge, charge on his line with harmonious chorus, For the prayers go with us that beauty has breathed.
He fights for the power of despot and plunder,
While we are defending our altars and homes ; He has riven the firmly knit Union asunder,
And to bind it with tyranny's fetters he comes, Like the prophet Mokanna, whose veil so resplendent,
His monstrous deformity closely concealed; Duplicity marks Lincoln's course, and dependent
On falsehood is every fair promise revealed.