The Draft

[January, 1865.]

Old Father Abe has issued his "Call" For Three Hundred Thousand more! By Jupiter, boys, he is after you all-- Lamed and maimed--tall and small-- With his drag-net spread for a general haul Of the "suckers" uncaught before.

I am sorry to see such a woeful change In the health of the hardiest; It is wonderful odd--it is "passing strange"-- As over the country you travel and range, To behold such a sudden, lamentable change All over the East and the West.

"Blades" tough and hearty a week ago, Who tippled and danced and laughed, Are "suddenly taken," and some quite low With an epidemical illness, you know: "What!--Zounds!--the cholera?" you quiz;--no--no-- The doctors call it the "Draft."

What a blessed thing it were to be old-- A little past "forty-five;" 'Twere better indeed than a purse of gold At a premium yet unwritten, untold, For what poor devil that's now "enrolled" Expects to get off alive?

There's a miracle wrought in the Democrats; They swore it was murder and sin To put in the "Niggers," like Kilkenny cats, To clear the ship of the rebel rats, But now I notice they swing their hats And shout to the "Niggers"--"Go in!"