This needle book, my bully boy,
I hope will fill your heart with joy;
For though you've left your girl behind you,
You've got a housewife to remind you
That, though you're far from friends and home,
You're not forgotten as you roam.
I trust these buttons, silk, and wax,
Will to your patience be no tax;
For sad indeed would be the lass
Who brought such sorry things to pass.
The brave girls of the North have sent off their lovers;
They now send them needle-books, in bright cotton covers;
Should you never prove false to the red, white, and blue,
When you come back they will some of them marry you!
Somehow or other, by hook or by crook,
I trust you will get this needle book;
You can close up the hole in the whole of your clothes;
And then, when on Sunday inspection you goes,
The Colonel commanding won't turn up his nose!
This needle book is made of scraps,
And I with needles thick will stick it;
Some comfort it will give, perhaps,
To some poor fellow out on picket.
As by my fire I sit and sew,
My thoughts are in the soldier's tent;
Which makes my needle swiftly go
To aid him still to close a rent.
When a hole in your pants you find,
Don't say, "Who cares;" "Never mind"—
Stop gaping and scratching your head;
Go take up your needle and thread;
Sew well, and patch up the long rent—
For this are these articles sent.
When next the traitor foe you fight,
Perhaps your pants may be too tight,
And as you charge the Rebels gray
The treacherous garments may give way;
But never mind the gaping rent,
For a few moments on them spent,
With aid of this nice housewife clever,
Will make them just as good as ever.