I want to be a Soldier!—­
                    A Soldier!—­
                        A Soldier!—­
  I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
  Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
  Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band;
  I want to hear, high overhead, The Old Flag flap her wings
  While all the Army, following, in chorus cheers and sings;
  I want to hear the tramp and jar
    Of patriots a million,
  As gayly dancing off to war
    As dancing a cotillion.

  I want to be a Soldier!—­
                    A Soldier!—­
                        A Soldier!—­
  I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
  Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
  Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band.

  I want to see the battle!—­
                    The battle!—­
                        The battle!—­
  I want to see the battle, and be in it to the end;—­
  I want to hear the cannon clear their throats and catch the prattle
  Of all the pretty compliments the enemy can send!—­
  And then I know my wits will go,—­and where I should’nt be—­
  Well, there’s the spot, in any fight, that you may search for me. 
  So, when our foes have had their fill,
    Though I’m among the dying,
  To see The Old Flag flying still,
    I’ll laugh to leave her flying!

  I want to be a Soldier!—­
                    A Soldier!—­
                        A Soldier!—­
  I want to be a Soldier, with a sabre in my hand
  Or a little carbine rifle, or a musket on my shoulder,
  Or just a snare-drum, snarling in the middle of the band.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “WHILE ALL THE ARMY, FOLLOWING, IN CHORUS CHEERS AND SINGS.”]

* * * * *

EXTREMES

[Illustration]

I

  A little boy once played so loud
  That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud,
  Said, “Since I can’t be heard, why, then
  I’ll never, never thunder again!”

[Illustration]

II

  And a little girl once kept so still
  That she heard a fly on the window-sill
  Whisper and say to a lady-bird,—­
  “She’s the stilliest child I ever heard!”

* * * * *

INTELLECTUAL LIMITATIONS

  Parunts knows lots more than us,
    But they don’t know all things,—­
  ’Cause we ketch ’em, lots o’ times,
    Even on little small things.

  One time Winnie ask’ her Ma,
    At the winder, sewin’,
  What’s the wind a-doin’ when
    It’s a-not a-blowin’?