43. THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.

(E.)

I'm lonesome since I crossed the hills,
And o'er the moor and valley,
Such heaviness my bosom fills,
Since parting with my Sally.
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me,
How blest the hours passed away
With the girl I left behind me.

The hour I do remember well,

When first she owned she loved me; A pain within my breast doth tell How constant I have proved me;

But now I'm on the ocean blue,

Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me, And send me home safe back again, To the girl I left behind me.

My mind her image must retain,
Asleep or sadly waking,

I long to see my love again,

For her my heart is breaking; Whene'er my steps return that way Still faithful she shall find me, And never more again I'll stray From the girl I left behind me.

44. PULL AWAY.
(G.)

Pull away, pull away, pull away, brave boys,
Pull away, pull away, the vict'ry's ours;

Pull away, pull away to the distant mark,
To the prize, our bonny bark.

Pull away, pull away, 'mid the waters foaming, sparkling, dashing all around;

Pull away, pull away, 'mid the wild confusion onward to the wished-for bound.

Pull away, pull away, pull away, brave boys,
Pull away, pull away, the vict'ry's ours;

Pull away, pull away to the distant mark,
To the prize, our bonny bark,

45. THREE FISHERS WENT SAILING.

(C.)

Three fishers went sailing out into the west,

Out into the west, as the sun went down.

Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town:

For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's a little to earn, and many to keep,
Tho' the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives, they sat up in the lighthouse tow'r,
And trimmed their lamps as the sun went down.
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the
show'r,

And the night rack came rolling up rugged and brown!

But men must work, and women must weep,
Tho' storms be sudden and waters be deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town:

For men must work, and women must weep,

And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,

And good-by to the bar and its moaning.

46. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

(A flat.)

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew.

The wide spreading pond and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hung in the well.

47. OLD FOLKS AT HOME.

(E flat.)

Way down upon the Swance River, far, far away,
There's where my heart is turning ever,
There's where the old folk's stay.

All up and down the whole creation, sadly I roam,
Still longing for the old plantation

And for the old folks at home.

All the world am sad and dreary, everywhere I

roam

Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary,

Far from the old folks at home.

All around the little farm I wandered, when I was

young;

Then many days I squandered, many the songs I

sung.

When I was playing with my brother, happy was I. Ch! take me to my kind old mother, there let me live

and die.

48. OLD BLACK JOE.

(E flat.)

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay;
Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away;
Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."
I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending
low.

I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old Black
Joe."

Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain? Why do I sigh that my friends come not again? Grieving for forms now departed long ago,

I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."

49. OLD KENTUCKY HOME.

(F.)

The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home,
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;

The corntop's ripe and the meadows in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.

The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy and bright;

Bye and bye "Hard Times"

door,

comes a-knocking at the

Then my old Kentucky home, good night.

Weep no more, my lady, oh, weep no more to-day.

We will sing one song for the old Kentucky

home,

For the old Kentucky home, far away.