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List the moral of my song-, sir; In Dixie there is something" wrong-, sir. As all that glitters is not gold, sir, Read and ponder what I've told, sir.
THE SENTINEL'S DREAM OF HOME. By Col. A. M. Hobby.
'Tis dead of night, nor voice, nor sound, breaks on the stillness of the air,
The waning moon goes coldly down on frozen fields and forests bare:
The solemn stars are glittering high, while here my lonely watch I keep,
To guard the brave with anxious eye, who sweetly dream and sweetly sleep.
Perchance of home these sleepers dream, of sainted ones no longer here,
Whose mystic forms low bend unseen, and breathe soft whispers in their ear:
Sleep on, sleep on, my comrades brave, quaff deep to-night of pleasure's cup,
Ere morning's crimson banners wave, and reveille shall rouse thee up.
The sporting winds and waves to-night seem tired of their boisterous play,
And armed ships, with signal lights and bristling guns before me lay :