On Shiloh's dark and bloody ground the dead and wounded lay, Amongst them was a drummer boy that beat the drum that day; A wounded soldier raised him up--his drum was by his side-- He clasped his hands, and raised his eyes, and prayed before he died. "Look down upon the battlefield, O Thou our heavenly Friend, Have mercy on our sinful souls"--the soldiers cried, "Amen!" For gathered 'round, a little group, each brave man knelt and cried-- They listened to the drummer boy who prayed before he died. "Oh, Mother," said the dying boy, "Look down from Heaven on me! Receive me to thy fond embrace! Oh, take me home to thee! I've loved my country as my God, to serve them both I've tried," He smiled, shook hands, death seized the boy who prayed before he died. Each soldier wept then like a child--stout hearts were they and brave-- The Flag his winding-sheet! God's Book the key unto his grave; They wrote upon a simple board these words, "This is a guide, To those who mourn the drummer boy who prayed before he died." [Illustration: Alabama Volunteer Corps.] OLD STONEWALL. By C. D. DASHER. Music by F. YOUNKER. [The music of this Song can be obtained of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.] Oh, don't you remember old Stonewall, my boys, Old Stonewall on charger so gray, Whose memory is dear to the sons of the South, The heroes that once wore the gray. He was true to the cause of the men that he led, Heroic in death as in life, From heaven above he smiles on the brave, Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife-- From heaven above he smiles on the brave, Who have ceased from mad carnage and strife. The harvest waves over the battlefield, boys, And where bullets once pattered like rain, The peach blooms are drifting like snow in the air, And the hillocks are springing in grain, Oh! green in our hearts may the memories be, Of those heroes, in blue or in grey, As new growing grain, for never again, Can they meet in dread battle array-- As new growing grain, for never again, Can they meet in dread battle array. THE SOUTH; OR, I LOVE THEE THE MORE. [The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.] My heart in its sadness turns fondly to thee, Dear land where our lov'd ones fought hard to be free; I loved thee when struggling, and bleeding and sore, But now thou art conquered, I love thee the more! Gallant South! when the noble, the gifted, the brave, Dashed onward to battle, like wave after wave, Determin'd to die for the land they adore, Though vain were their efforts, I love thee the more. Bright South! though the winter is closing around, And dead leaves of autumn now carpet the ground, Thy beauties of woodland, of river and shore, Still charm the beholder, I love thee the more.