Pile the cotton to the skies; Lo! the Northmen gaze; England! see our sacrifice-- See the cotton blaze! God of nations! now to Thee, Southrons bend th' imploring knee; 'Tis our country's hour of need-- Hear the mothers intercede-- Hear the little children plead! CHORUS. [Illustration: Massa.] THE CONTRABAND. A song of Mississippi negroes in the Vicksburg Campaign. Darkies has you seed my massa Wid de mustache on his face? He came along dis morning As dough he'd leave de place. He saw de smoke way up de river, Where de Lincum gunboats lay: He took his hat and he left mighty sudden, I speck he's runned away. CHORUS.--Massa run, aha! Darkey stay, aho! It must be now dat de kingdom's comin', In the year of Jubilo. He's six feet one way, four feet t'other, And weighs three hundred pounds; His coat's so big he can't pay de tailor-- Den it don't go half around. [Illustration: "Massa run, aha."] He drills so much dey call him cap'n; And he am so very tan, Speck he'll try to fool dem Yankees And say he's contraban'. CHORUS. Dis darkey gets so very lonesome, In de cabin on de lawn; He moves his things to massa's parlor, To keep 'em, while he's gone. There's wine and cider in de cellar, And de darkies dey'll have some; I speck it will be confiscated, When de Lincum soldiers come. CHORUS. De overseer will give us trouble, And run us round a spell; We'll lock him up in smoke-house cellar, Wid de key thrown in de well. De whip is lost, and de handcuffs broken, And massa'll lose his pay; He's big enough and old enough, Dan to gone and runned away. CHORUS. SONG OF HOOKER'S PICKET. _Southern Illustrated News_, Feb. 21st, 1863. I'm 'nation tired of being hired To fight for a shillin' a day; Richmond to gain I'll hev to strain, And travel some other way. Darn Ole Abe and Ole Jeff Dave! Darn the day I 'listed! When I came down to this 'ere town, Jerushy! how I missed it. All day I've stud in rebel mud A watchin' North Calinians. I might a bin safe up to Lynn, A eatin' clams and inions. All night I sit in straw that's wet, Ketchen fleas and other critters; The boys down East are at a feast With gals, doughnuts and fritters. I hain't no pay for many a day;-- Nigh unto a year I guess, Since a new Greenback hev crosst my track-- That's so with all my mess. To pull my trigger for a big buck nigger That lives on hog and hominy, While on hard tack my jaws I crack, Ain't war "accordin' to Jomini."