Rensselaer Democrat, Volume 1, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 April 1898 — SONGS OF THE HOUR. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SONGS OF THE HOUR.

Remember, Boys, the Maine?

Where hovers o’er the nation * mighty cloud | of war, A threatening storm Is coming, me Me U from afar. And many hearts are anxious, all ready for the fray; There are thousands all In order, the Bine I beside the Gray, And while the drums are beating and from the bugle's mouth A call “to arms" Is sounding, tram the North and from the South, There blends a mighty chorus, one long and loud refrain: “When we strike for Cuba Libre, remember, boys, the Maine:’’ In this chorus are the voices of men with many scars, ’ Who battled In the Southland against the; stripes and stars; ' There are voices of the veterans who battled ■. for the North, >“ Who wore the blue at Shiloh and faced thecannon's mouth. They followed different banners and differ- j ent anthems gave. The South sang for the Southland, the North : for Northmen brave; But now they are united, have one chorus,one refrain: “When we strike for Cuba Libre, remember,; boys, the Maine:’’ j Mothers, sisters, sweethearts, when you beer’ the war alarum. And the drummer beats “to rally” and the bugle calle “to arms,” And yon flear the tramp of thousands from the North and from the West, From the valley and the Southland, hastening onward to the Ra?U When you see your dear ones leaving and marching to the fray, And your farewells all are spoken and your, tears are brushed away. Let your voices blend In chorus. In one loog and loud refrain: “When you strike for Cuba Libre, remember, boys, the Maine!” —St. Louis Star.

On Chickamauga Field. 'Way down at Chickamauga, In good «M Tennessee. The regulars and volunteers will soon assembled be; They’ll camp upon historic ground—and won’t It just be great To see 'em start to Cuba from Old Hickory Jackson's State? Attention. Americans: Line up all proud aud straight. For you'll suou be sent to Cuba from OK Hickory Jackson's State. The Dons themselves may recollect Old Hickory Jackson's name. For he licked ’em down In Florida and covered ’em with shame; So maybe they will understand why now we jubilate At the thought of starting for 'em from Gid Hickory Jackson’s State. Attention. Americans! You won’t have long to wait. Ere you march away to Cuba from Old Hick ory Jackson's State. Don't'you heat the bugles calling? They’re sounding clear aud strong. As down to Chickamauga our new army sweeps along; It's a glorious procession, for no maa would be late When the cry's “On to from Old Hickory Jackson’s State! Attention, Americans! And strike a winning gait When you march away to Cuba from Old Hickory Jackson’s State! —St. Louis Republic. The Flag Goes By.

Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a rutile of drum*. A flash of color beneath the sky! Hats off! The flag is passing by! Blue and crimson and white it shinea. Over the steel-tipped, ordered line*. Hats off! The colors before ns fly; But more than the flag is passing by. Sea fights and land fights, grim and great. Fought to ninke and to save the state; Weary marches, and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips; Days of plenty and days of paaee; March of a strong land’s swift Increase; JSqpal justice, right ami law. Stately honor and reverend awe; Sign of a nation, great and strong To ward her people from foreign wrong; Pride and glory and honor, all Dive in the colors to stand or fall. Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums. And loyal hearts are beating high; Hats off! The flag Is passing by! ° » —Youth’s Companion. Marching Southward. Again the fire of Bunker Hill Fills every martial band; Again the sound of marching feet Is heard throughout the land. •' The hosts are streaming through the South Along historic ways. And Chickamauga sees again The campfire’s fitful blaze. Now Southron marches side by aid. His friend.from lands of snow. And every blade Is drawn against The nation's common foe. Among North Georgia's somber hills The bugle calls to strife. And ghosts that dwell on Kenesaw Are stirred again with life. —Atlanta Jouraal. Venseance Is Near. Will we ever forget The Virgtnius debt That darkens pur flag with Its stains! Will we ever forgive The assassins that live To gloat o'er the wreck of the Matte f Arouse from your dreams When the old banner streams. The day of our vengeance Is near; Let your glad voices break On the stillness and wake The world with a patriot’s cheer. There are pood prospects Cer « bugs yield of peaches in western Maryin ad and Went Virginia.