Songs Of The Civil War (1991) by Various Artists (보컬) on maniadb.com

Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name
He's off to the wars and gone
He's fighting for his Nannie dear
His sword is buckled on

He's fighting for his own true love
His foes he does defy
He is the darling of my heart
My Southern soldier boy

Oh if in battle he was slain
I'm sure that I should die
but I'm sure he'll come again
And cheer my weeping eye

But should he fall
In this our glorious cause
He still would be my joy
For many a sweetheart mourns the loss
Of a Southern soldier boy

I hope for the best
And so do all
Whose hopes are in the field
I know that we shall win the day
For Southerns never yield

And when we thing
Of those who are away
We'll look above for joy
And I'm mighty glad
That my Bobby is
A Southern soldier boy

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery Gospel writ in burnished rows of steel;
“As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal”;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
Since God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free;
[originally …let us die to make men free]
While God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! While God is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is wisdom to the mighty, He is honor to the brave;
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of wrong His slave,
Our God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Our God is marching on.

Lorena
Writen in 1857 by Rev.Henry DeLafayette Webster & Joseph Philbrick Webster

(G) the years creep slowly (G7) by, Lo - (C) re - na,
The (D7) snow is on the grass a - (G) gain;
The sun's low down the (G7) sky, Lo - (C) re - na,
The (D7) frost gleams where the flowers have (G) been.
But my (Em) heart beats on as warmly (Bm) now,
As (B7) when the summer days were (Em) nigh; (D7)
The (G) sun can never (G7) dip so (C) low,
Or (D7) down affections cloudless (G) sky.

A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last i held that hand in mine,
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine.
A hundred months, 'twas flowery may,
When up the hilly slope we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant church bells chime.

We loved each other then, Lorena,
More than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our lovings prospered well.
But then, 'tis past, the years are gone,
I'll not call up their shadowy forms;
I'll say to them, "lost years, sleep on!
Sleep on! Nor heed life's pelting storms."

The story of that past, Lorena,
Alas! I care not to repeat,
The hopes that could not last, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat.
I would not cause them one regret
To rankle in your bosom now;
For "If we try, we may forget,"
Were words of thine long years ago.

Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena,
They burn within my memory yet;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not thy woman's heart that spoke;
Thy heart was always true to me:
A duty, stern and pressing, broke
The tie which linked my soul with thee.

It matters little now, Lorena,
The past is in the eternal past;
Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena,
Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
There is a future! O, thank God!
Of life this is so small a part!
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod;
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.