A SOUTHERN WOMAN’S SONG.

Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Little needle, swiftly fly,
Brightly glittering as you go;
Every time that you pass by
Warms my heart with pity’s glow.
Dreams of comfort that will cheer,
Through winter’s cold, the volunteer,
Dreams of courage you will bring,
Smile on me like flowers in Spring.

Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Swiftly, little needle, fly,
Through this flannel, soft and warm;
Though with cold the soldiers sigh,
This will sure keep out the storm.
Set the buttons close and tight
Out to shut the winter’s damp;
There’ll be none to fix them right
In the soldier’s 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 forgot.
Though small and tiny you may be,
Do all that you are able;
A mouse a lion once set free,—
As says the pretty fable.

Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Swiftly, little needle, glide,
Thine’s a pleasant labor;
To clothe the soldier be thy pride,
While he wields the sabre.
Ours are tireless hearts and hands;
To Southern wives and mothers,
All who join our warlike bands
Are our friends and brothers.

Stitch, stitch, stitch,
Little needle, swiftly fly,
From the morning until eve,
As the moments pass thee by,
These substantial comforts weave.
Busy thoughts are at our hearts—
Thoughts of hopeful cheer,
As we toil till day departs
For the noble volunteer.

Quick, quick, quick,
Swifter, little needle, go;
From our homes 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.