Like rushing tide down mountain side,
The Northern hosts are sweeping;
Each freeman's breast to meet the test
With patriot blood is leaping.

Now Southern sneer and bullies' leer,
Will find swift vengeance meted;
For never yet since foemen met
Have Northern men retreated.

United

now, no more we'll bow,

Or supplicate, or reason;

'Twill be our shame and lasting blame

If we consent to treason.

Then in the fight our hearts unite,

One purpose move us ever;

No traitor hand divide our land,

No

power our country sever.

"LET us alone" was the plausible cry of the rebels, from "Jeff." down to the craziest secessionist in all Dixie. Some wag of a poet in a Hartford paper has elucidated the "text" in the following handsome style.

"LET US ALONE!"

As vonce I valked by a dismal swamp,
There sot an Old Cove in the dark and damp,

And at everybody that passed that road

A stick or a stone this Old Cove throwed.
And venever he flung his stick or his stone,
He'd set up a song of "Let me alone."

"Let me alone, for I loves to shy
These bits of things at the passers by—
Let me alone, for I've got your tin
And lots of other traps snugly in—
Let me alone, I'm riggin a boat
To grab votever you've got afloat-
In a veek or so I expect to come

And turn you out of your 'ouse and 'ome-
I'm a quiet Old Cove," says he,, with a groan!
"All I axes is-Let me alone."

Just then came along, on the self same way,
Another Old Cove, and began for to say-
"Let you alone! That's comin' it strong!-
You've been let alone-a darned sight too long-
Of all the sarce that ever I heered!

Put down that stick! (You may well look skeered !)
Let go that stone! If you once show fight,
I'll knock you higher than any kite.

You must have a lesson to stop your tricks,
And cure you of shying them stones and sticks,
And I'll have my hardware back, and my cash,
And knock your scow into tarnal smash.
And if ever I catches you 'round my ranch,
I'll string you up to the nearest branch.
The best you can do is to go to bed,
And keep a decent tongue in your head;
For I reckon before you and I are done,
You'll wish you had let honest folks alone."

The Old Cove stopped, and the t'other Old Cove,
He sot quite still in his cypress grove,

And he looked at his stick, revolvin' slow,
Vether 'twere safe to shy it or no—

And he grumbled on, in an injured tone,

"All that I axed vos, let me alone."

AFTER ALL.

BY WILLIAM WINTER.

THE apples are ripe in the orchard,
The work of the reaper is done,
And the golden woodlands redden
In the blood of the dying sun.

At the cottage-door the grandsire
Sits pale in his easy-chair,
While the gentle wind of twilight
Plays with his silver hair.

A woman is kneeling beside him;
A fair young head is pressed,
In the first wild passion of sorrow,
Against his aged breast.

And far from over the distance
The faltering echoes come
Of the flying blast of trumpet,
And the rattling roll of drum.

And the grandsire speaks in a whisper: "The end no man can see;

But we give him to his country,

And we give our prayers to Thee."

The violets star the meadows,

The rose-buds fringe the door,

And over the grassy orchard

The pink-white blossoms pour.

But the grandsire's chair is empty,

The cottage is dark and still;

There's a nameless grave in the battle-field,
And a new one under the hill.

And a pallid, tearless woman
By the cold hearth sits alone,
And the old clock in the corner
Ticks on with a steady drone.

It is reported of the Army of the Cumberland, that often in going into battle, the whole line takes up the following popular and stirring battle cry. It is said by eye-witnesses to be a most imposing and thrilling scene; the long lines of burnished steel flashing in the sun-light, and the wild shout and song of an hundred thousand men echoing along the valleys,-must be a spectacle indeed!

THE BATTLE CRY OF FREEDOM!

ANONYMOUS.

YES, we'll rally round the Flag, boys, we'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom;

We will rally from the hill-side, we'll gather from the plain, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

CHORUS.-The Union for ever! hurrah! boys, hurrah!

Down with the Traitor, up with the Star!

While we rally round the Flag, boys, rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

We are springing to the call of our Brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million Freemen more, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom'!

The Union for ever! &c.

We will welcome to our numbers the boys all true and brave,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

And although he may be poor, he shall never be a Slave,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

The Union for ever! &c.

So, we're springing to the call from the East and from the West, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

And we'll hurl the Rebel crew from the land we love the best, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!

The Union for ever! &c.

THE following beautiful and appropriate hymn was written by the Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg, founder of St. Luke's hospital, in New York, and writer of the immortal hymn, "I would not live always." It was submitted to President Lin

coln and his consent was obtained to have it called “THE PRESIDENT'S HYMN." It was written for a special Thanksgiving day, for which it was admirably adapted. With very little preparation it can be produced in every Church in the land:

THE PRESIDENT'S HYMN.

Give thanks, all ye people, give thanks to the Lord—
Alleluias of freedom, with joyful accord:

Let the East and the West, North and South roll along
Sea, mountain and prairie, one thanksgiving song.

CHORUS: Give thanks, all ye people, give thanks to
the Lord,

Alleluias of freedom with joyful accord.