SONGS OF THE HUTCHINSONS.
We're with You Once Again.
SONG OF THE WANDERER.
(Published by Oliver Ditson, Washington st., Boston.)
We're with you once again, kind friends,
No more our footsteps roam;
Where it began, our journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear;
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet us here ?
Since last, with spirits wild and free,
We pressed our native strand,
We've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land;
We've seen all nations of the earth,
Of every hue and tongue,
Which taught us how to prize the worth
Of that from which we sprung.
Our native land, we turn to you,
With blessings and with prayer,
Where man is brave and woman true,
And free as mountain air;
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet us here!
All hail! ye friends of temperance,
Who're gathered here to night, sirs,
To celebrate the praises of
Cold water, pure and bright, sirs.
We welcome you with joyful hearts
Each generous son and daughter,
For here's the place of all, to shout
The praises of cold water.
Oh! cold water, pure cold water,
Raise the shout, send it out,
Shout for pure cold water.
Of all the blessed things below
Of our Creator's giving,'
Assuaging almost every wo,
And making life worth living,
For old and young, for high and low,
Yea every son and daughter,
There's nothing as a beverage,
Like sparkling pure cold water.
Oh! cold water, &c.
Oh! if you would preserve your health
And trouble never borrow,
Just take the morning shower bath,
"Twill drive away all sorrow.
And then instead of drinking rum,
As doth the poor besotter;
For health, long life, and happiness,
Drink nothing but cold water.
Oh! cold water, &c.
Yes, water 'll cure most every ill, 'Tis proved without assumption, Dyspepsia, gout, and fevers, too,
And sometimes old consumption.
Your head-aches, side-aches, and heart-aches too, Which often cause great slaughter;
Can all be cured by drinking oft
And bathing in cold water.
Oh! cold water, &c.
Full eighteen hundred years or more—
These truths have been before us,
And yet have blind delusive clouds
Seemed madly hovering o'er us.
The lep'rous men of Judea,
And lame who scarce could totter,
Were cured of all their maladies
In Jordan's healing water.
Oh! cold water, &c.
But great reforms are going on
'Mong every class and station,
And better days are dawning on-
The rising generation.
Though Alcohol has had his day
And great has been his slaughter,
He's now retreating in dismay,
And victory crowns cold water.
Oh I cold water, &c.
What do I see? ah! look, behold
That glorious day by prophets told,
Has dawn'd, and now is near;
Methinks, I hear from yonder plain,
With shouts of gladness loud proclaim,
The Millennium is here.
See freedom's star that shines so bright, It sheds its rays of truth and light,
O'er mountain, rock, and sea;
And like the mighty march of mind,
Has sought and blest all human kind,
And set the bondman free.
No dungeons, chains, or gibbets, here.
No groans of prisoners in despair,
Are heard to mar the scene:
But peace, as once on Bethl'hem's plain,
By Angels sang, has come again,
And earth is all serene.
In that vast crowd, no high, no low,
Distinction and complexions now
Are passed and known no more.
On one broad level see them stand,
The millions who compose this band,
With strains, most glorious, pour.
The voice of war is heard no more,
The cannon with its deadly roar
Is hushed in silence now;
All implements of death you see
Are changed from war to husbandry,
The "pruning hook" and plow.
Salvation to our God proclaim,
This is the glorious, peaceful reign,
The nations now shall know,
The kingdoms of this world are given
To Christ the Lord of earth and heaven,
Predicted long ago. ·
The New England Farmer.
A life on my native soil,
A home in a farmer's cot,
I'll never at labor recoil,
And ask for no happier lot.
Oh, the city hath not a charm,
With its turmoil, noise and strife,
Give me a snug little farm
With a kind and notable wife.
A life on my native soil,
Gee up, gee ho, &c.
On my native soil I stand,
'Mid blossoming fields around,
While the air is pleasant and bland,
And the hills with cattle abound.
Oh, the river is flowing by,
And the boatman's singing we hear,
And the laborers, how they ply,
While echoes send around the good cheer.
A life on my native soil,
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