[Cover Page uses "in" vice "of" within the title]
[Title Page:] "Remember Poor Sufferers of the South" (1878)
Song & Chorus.
Words by Alice Dale. 
Music by George Washbourne Morgan, 1822-1892

New York: Free with the New York Family Story Paper, No. 264
[Source: 106/135@Levy]

1. When the anguished cry burst forth that informed the startled North, 
That the sunny South was stricken by the plague, 
How each tender heart was hushed, as the fearful tidings rushed 
O’er the continent, with rumors wild and vague. 
From the city and the plain, from the forest’s dark domain, 
From plantation, and savanna, rose the cry: 
“Let our pray’rs Thy wrath assuage! 
Oh, God! stay the fever’s rage! 
Help us! Help us, Northern brothers, or we die.” 
Then each generous heart, and hand thro’out all the startled land, 
Nobly answer’d to the summons, and each mouth 
Join’d with sympathetic zeal, in the thrilling grand appeal!

CHORUS [sung after each verse]
Remember the poor suff’rers of the South.

2. See the ruthless fever king, with his yellow flashing wing, 
Waves his demons up from swamp and marshland low;  
From hayou and broad lagoon sweeps the terrible monsoon, 
Bearing into ev’ry household, fear and woe. 
Rich and poor, the great and small, lowly cot, and lofty hall, 
Feel the terror of that pestillential breath; 
Here the maiden lifeless lies, 
There the strong man droops and dies; 
“Help! Oh! help to stop this carnival of death.” 
Then from Each and North and West was warm sympathy express’d, 
And the noble words were pass’d from mouth to mouth, 
While the tears dimm’d every eye, loudly rose the feeling cry! 

3. Ah! alas! the severed ties where each loved one pulseless lies, 
And the poor, heartsticken mourners wail above; 
Where the youthful and the old lie together stark and cold, 
And the lover by the maiden of his love. 
In their hour of woe and grief, swiftly sped the kind relief; 
And humanity responded far and wide; 
And though many suff’rer’s moans 
Could be heard in gtateful tones; 
“God will bless you Northern brothers,” as they died. 
Then stay not the helping hand, from that sorrowstricken land, 
Let the gen’rous word still pass from mouth to mouth, 
In the scenes of busy life— in the hours when joy is rife!