I saw a young man in the fresh bloom of life, As he came to the church with a trembling young wife, Lift against me the finger of scorn. Oh, the revel was joyous, the dance lasted long; But the shriek of the widow soon banish’d the song-- The young man died ere the morn! Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, when they came for my aid, To provide him a home with my mattock and spade. I saw a fair child bend her beautiful head, And cull the lone flowers that bloom o’er the dead, To form a pure simple wreath. The crimson of hectic suffused her pale face; In her eyes fearful lustre I trembled to trace, The herald of early death. But I pray that ere then, the deep home I have made, May close over _me_, and my mattock and spade. Uncle Sam’s Farm. 45 Copied by permission of RUSSELL & TOLMAN, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright. Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West, Oh! this glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best. We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurl’d, Here is a general invitation to the people of the world. _Chorus._--Come along, come along--make no delay, Come from every nation, come from every way; Our land is broad enough--don’t be alarmed, For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm. St. Lawrence marks our northern line, as fast her waters flow, And the Rio Grande our southern bound, way down to Mexico; From the great Atlantic ocean, where the sun begins to dawn, Leaps across the Rocky Mountains, away to Oregon. _Chorus._--Come along, come along, &c. The South may raise the cotton, and the West the corn and pork, New England manufactories shall do up the finer work; For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills, Are just the thing for washing sheep and driving cotton mills. _Chorus._--Come along, come along, &c. Our fathers gave us liberty, but little did they dream, The grand results that flow along this mighty age of steam; For our mountains, lakes, and rivers are all a blaze of fire, And we send our news by lightning on the telegraphic wire. _Chorus._--Come along, come along, &c. Yes, we are bound to beat the nations, for our motto’s go-ahead, And we’ll tell the foreign paupers that our people are well-fed; For the nations must remember that Uncle Sam is not a fool, For the people do the voting, and the children go to school. _Chorus._--Come along, come along, &c. Wait for the Wagon. 46