Heaven bless the new year that is just ushered in;
May the Rebels repent of their folly and sin,
Depart from their idols, extend the right hand,
And pledge that the Union forever shall stand. 
May they see that the rending of fetter and chain
Is their triumph as well—­their unspeakable gain;
That the Union dissevered and weltering in blood
Could yield them no profit and bode them no good. 
’Tis human to err and divine to forgive;
Let us walk after Christ—­bid the poor sinners live,
And come back to the fold of the Union once more,
And we’ll do as the prodigal’s father of yore—­
Kill the well-fatted calf—­(but we’ll not do it twice)
And invite them to dinner—­and give them a slice.

There’s old Johnny Bull—­what a terrible groan
Escapes when he thinks of his big “Rebel Loan”—­
How the money went out with a nod and a grin,
But the cotton—­the cotton—­it didn’t come in. 
Then he thinks of diplomacy—­Mason-Slidell,
And he wishes that both had been warming in hell,
For he got such a rap from our little Bill Seward
That the red nose he blows is right hard to be cured;
And then the steam pirates he built and equipped,
And boasted, you know, that they couldn’t be whipped;
But alas for his boast—­Johnny Bull “caught a Tartar,”
And now like a calf he is bawling for quarter. 
Yes, bluff Johnny Bull will be tame as a yearling,
Beg pardon and humbly “come down” with his sterling.

There’s Monsieur l’Escamoteur[CU] over in France; He has had a clear field and a gay country dance Down there in Mexico—­playing his tricks While we had a family “discussion wid sticks”; But the game is played out; don’t you see it’s so handy For Grant and his boys to march over the Grande.  He twists his waxed moustache and looks very blue, And he says to himself, (what he wouldn’t to you) “Py tam—­dair’s mon poor leetle chappie—­Dutch Max! Cornes du Diable[CV]—­’e’ll ’ave to make tracks Or ve’ll ’ave all dem tam Yankee poys on our packs.”

Monsieur l’Empereur, if your Max can get out
With the hair of his head on—­he’d better, no doubt. 
If you’ll not take it hard, here’s a bit of advice—­
It is dangerous for big pigs to dance on the ice;
They sometimes slip up and they sometimes fall in,
And the ice you are on is exceedingly thin. 
You’re au fait, I’ll admit, at a sharp game of chance,
But the Devil himself couldn’t always beat France. 
Remember the fate of your uncle of yore,
Tread lightly, and keep very close to the shore.

The Giant Republic—­its future how vast! 
Now, freed from the follies and sins of the past,

[CU] The Juggler.

[CV] Horns of the Devil!—­equivalent to the exclamation—­The Devil!