[from the N. O. Picayune.]
a Southern Woman's Song.
Stitch, stitch, stitch, Little needle swiftly
Brightly glittering as you go,
Every times that you pass by
Warm's my heart with pity's glow.
Dreams of comfort that will cheer,
Through winter's the volunteer,
Dreams of courage you will bring,
Smile on me like flowers in spring.
Stitch, stitch stitch,
Swiftly little needle fly,
Tarough this flannel soft and warm;
Though with cold the soldier sigh,
This will sure keep out the storm.
Se th button close and tight,
Out to shut the winter's damp;
There'll be none to them right
In the soldier tented camp.
Stitch, stitch, stitch;
Ah ! needle do not linger;
Close the thread, make firm the knot;
There'll be no dainty finger
To arrange a seam forget.
Though small and tiny you may be,
Do all that you are able;
A lion on a monse set free,
As says the pretty fable.
Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Swiftly little needle gilde,
Thine's a pleasant labor
To clothe the soldier be thy pride,
While he woulds the sabre.
Ours are tireless hearts and hands;
To Southern wives and mothers,
All who join our warlike bands
Are one friends and brothers.
Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Little needle swiftly fly,
From the morn no until eve,
As the moments pass thes by,
These substantial comforts weave.
Hasy thought are at one hearts--
Thoughts of hopeful closer,
As we foil till day departs
For the noble volunteer.
Quick, quick, quick,
Swifter little needle go;
From our home's most pleasant fires
Let a loving greeting flow
To our brothers and our sires.
We have tears for those who fall,
Smiles for those who laugh at fear--
Hope and sympathy for all,
Every noble volunteer.
Natchitoches, October, 1861.
