Oh, for one short hour of gladness, One hour of hope, this pain to break, And chase away the heavy sadness, At Camp Douglas by the Lake. CHORUS. I would some Southern bird was singing, Warbling richest, softest lays, Back to eager memory bringing, Sweetest thoughts of happy days. CHORUS. I dread the night's uneasy slumber; Hate the day that bids me wake, Another of that dreary number, At Camp Douglas by the Lake. CHORUS. Never Sabbath bells are tolling, Never words of cheer and love; Wintry waves are round us rolling, Clouds are hiding heaven above. CHORUS. Dixie Land! still turn toward you, Hearts that now in bondage ache, Hearts that once were strong to guard you, Wasting here beside the lake. REFRAIN.--John Morgan crossed the river, And I went across with him. I was captured in Ohio, Because I could not swim. MISSOURI. Words and music by HARRY MCCARTHY. Sung by Harry McCarthy throughout the Confederate States in his Personation Concerts. [The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.] Missouri! Missouri! bright land of the West, Where the wayworn emigrant always found rest, Who gave to the farmer reward for the toil Expended in breaking and turning the soil; Awake to the notes of the bugle and drum! Awake from your peace, for the tyrant hath come; And swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. They'd force you to join in their unholy fight, With fire and with sword, with power and with might, 'Gainst fathers and brothers, and kindred near, 'Gainst women and children, all you hold dear; They've o'errun your soil, insulted your press; Murdered your citizens, shown no redress; So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. Missouri! Missouri! where is thy proud fame? Free land of the West, thy once cherished name Trod in the dust by a tyrant's command, Proclaiming there's martial law in the land, Men of Missouri! strike without fear! McCulloch, Jackson, and brave men are near; So swear by your honor that your chains shall be riven, And add your bright star to our Flag of Eleven. OH, NO! HE'LL NOT NEED THEM AGAIN![15] Oh, no! no! he'll not need them again-- No more will he wake to behold, The splendor and fame of his men-- The tale of his victories told! No more will he wake from that sleep, Which he sleeps in his glory and fame, While his comrades are left here to weep Over Cleburne! his grave and his name.