"We'll pray for the conscript, with frown on his brow, To fight for his country he won't take the vow; May bad luck and bad fortune him always attend; And die with dishonor!" said the soldier, "Amen!" HERE'S YOUR MULE. A farmer came to camp, one day, with milk and eggs to sell, Upon a mule who oft would stray to where no one could tell, The farmer, tired of his tramp, for hours was made a fool By ev'ryone he met in camp, with, "Mister, here's your mule." CHORUS.--Come on, come on, come on, old man, and don't be made a fool, I'll tell the truth as best I can, John Morgan's got your mule. His eggs and chickens all were gone before the break of day, The mule was heard of all along--that's what the soldiers say; And still he hunted all day long--alas! the witless fool-- While ev'ry man would sing the song, "Mister, here's your mule." CHORUS. The soldiers now, in laughing mood, on mischief were intent, They toted muly on their backs, around from tent to tent; Through this hole and that they pushed his head, and made a rule To shout with humorous voices all, "Mister, here's your mule." CHORUS. Alas! one day the mule was missed, ah! who could tell his fate? The farmer, like a man bereft, searched early and searched late; And as he passed from camp to camp, with stricken face, the fool Cried out to ev'ryone he met, "Oh, Mister, where's my mule?" CHORUS. SABINE PASS. Dedicated to the Davis Guards--(The Living and the Dead). By MRS. M. J. YOUNG. Sabine Pass! in letters of gold, Seem written upon the sky to-day, Sabine Pass! with rhythmic feet, Comes passionately stepping down my lay. Sabine Pass! and the white sail ships, With their cruel cannons' grinning teeth, Tearing in shreds the sullen smoke, That seem'd weaving for us a winding sheet. Sabine Pass! with its Irish hearts, As true as the blessings the Shamrock brings, Hearts as full of royal blood As that which nerves the arms of kings. Few, ah! few were the Davis band, "We cannot conquer, but we can die!" Said the dauntless Dowling, as up he sprang, And nailed the starry cross on high. Twenty-seven ships in pomp and pride, Came sailing through the Pass that day; Go ask of any Texan child, How many ships survived the fray. The God of battle, who loves the brave, Who gave to Gideon of old the fight, Sent victory down that "Guard" to save, And crowned them with immortal light. Dark storms have since o'erswept our land, And tyrants do our souls harass, But glory shines on Dowling's band, The forty-two heroes of the Pass. Come, fill your glass with Texas wine, Wine that is generous, red and free, And drink with me to the knightliest man, Who conquered the foe on land and sea.