When that veil shall be raised, Freedom's last feast be taken, A banquet to which all his followers will crowd; Oh, horror of horrors! who can view it unshaken? Without sense they will sit all in suppliance bowed! We do not forget that they once were our brothers, That we sat in our boyhood around the same board, That our heart's best idolatry blest the same mothers, And to the same fathers libations we poured. We rallied around the same star-spangled standard, When called to the field by the tocsin of war, But they from our side have unfeelingly wandered, And we strip from our flag every recusant star. They have forced us to stand by our own constitution, To defend our lov'd homesteads, our altars and fires, While they tamely submit to a tyrant's pollution, Beneath whose foul tread their own freedom expires. Then up with the banner, its broad stripes wide flowing, 'Tis the emblem of Liberty--flag of the free; Let it wave us to triumph, and every heart glowing, Nerve each arm's bravest blows for its lov'd Tennessee. THE VOLUNTEER. Permission of H. WEHRMAN. Arranged by J. C. VIERECK. [The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.] The hour was sad, I left the maid, A lingering farewell taking; Her sighs and tears my steps delayed, I thought her heart was breaking. In hurried words her name I blessed, I breathed the vows that bind me, And to my heart in anguish pressed The girl I left behind me. Then to the East we bore away To win a name in story, And, there, where dawns the sun of day, There dawned our sun of glory. Both blazed in noon on Manassas' plain, Where, in the post assigned me, I shared the glory of that fight-- Sweet girl I left behind me! Full many a name our banners bore Of former deeds of daring-- But they were of the days of yore, In which we had no sharing; But now, our laurels freshly won, With the old ones shall entwin'd be, Still worthy of our sires, each son, Sweet girl I left behind me! The hope of final victory Within my bosom burning, Is mingling with sweet thoughts of thee, And of my fond returning. But should I ne'er return again, Still worth thy love thou'lt find me, Dishonor's breath shall never stain The name I leave behind me. READING THE LIST. "Is there any news of the war?" she said; "Only a list of the wounded and dead," Was the man's reply, Without lifting his eye To the face of the woman standing by. "'Tis the very thing I want," she said; "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."