THE DRAFT

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!”