Our G.o.d, who smiles upon the Right And frowns upon the Wrong, Will nerve you for our holy fight, And make your courage strong.

Our cause is just, for it we pray At morning, noon, and night, Upon our banners we inscribe, G.o.d, Liberty, and Right.

I love you as I love my life, You are my only son; Your country calls, go forth and fight Till Freedom's cause is won.

It may be that you fall in death, Contending for your home, Yet your aged mother will not be Forsaken though alone.

A thousand generous hearts there are Throughout this sunny land, Whose ample fortunes will be spent With an unsparing hand.

Now go, my son, a mother's prayers Will ever follow thee; And in the thickest of the fight Strike home for liberty!

On every hill, in every glen, We'll fight till we are free; We'll fight till every limpid brook Runs crimson to the sea.

No truce we know, till every foe Shall leave our hallowed sod, And we regain that heaven-born boon, "Freedom to worship G.o.d."

NEW ORLEANS, LA.

OUR BOYS ARE GONE.

BY COL. HAMILTON WASHINGTON.

Our boys are gone 'till the war is o'er, In the ranks of death you'll find them; With duty's path of blood before, And with all they love behind them: They bear our hearts to the tented field-- Each danger makes them dearer-- Their faithful hearts our only shield From the foe still drawing nearer.

With pride we hear of the perils braved And the wreaths they win of glory; With joy we hear of lov'd ones saved From each field of battle gory; And joy is mix'd with fleeting pain As we look to Heaven o'er us, And think that there we'll meet again, With the brave who've gone before us.

THE SOUTHERN PLEIADES.

BY LAURA LORRIMER.

When first our Southern flag arose, Beside the heaving sea, It bore upon its silken folds A green Palmetto tree.

All honor to that banner brave, It roused the blood of yore, And nerved the arm of Southern men For valiant deeds once more.

When storm clouds darkened o'er our sky, That star, the first of seven, Shone out amid the mist and gloom, To light our country's heaven.

The glorious seven! long may their flag Wave proudly on the breeze; Long may they burn on fame's broad sky-- The Southern Pleiades!

_Nashville Patriot._

THE STARS AND BARS.

BY A. J. REQUIER.

Fling wide the dauntless banner To every Southern breeze, Baptized in flame, with Sumter's name-- A patriot and a hero's fame-- From Moultrie to the seas!

That it may cleave the morning sun And, streaming, sweep the night, The emblem of a battle won With Yankee ships in sight.

Come, hucksters, from your markets, Come, bigots, from your caves, Come, venal spies, with brazen lies Bewildering your deluded eyes, That we may dig your graves; Come, creatures of a sordid clown And driveling traitor's breath, A single blast shall blow you down Upon the fields of Death.

The very flag you carry Caught its reflected grace, In fierce alarms, from Southern arms, When foemen threatened all your farms, And never saw your face; Ho! braggarts of New England's sh.o.r.e, Back to your hills and delve The soil whose craven sons foreswore The flag in eighteen-twelve!

We wreathed around the roses It wears before the world, And made it bright with storied light, In every scene of b.l.o.o.d.y fight Where it has been unfurled; And think ye, now, the dastard hands That never yet could hold Its staff, shall wave it o'er our lands, To glut the greed of gold?

No! by the truth of Heaven And its eternal Sun, By every sire whose altar fire Burns on to beckon and inspire, It never shall be done; Before that day the kites shall wheel Hail-thick on Northern heights, And there our bared, aggressive steel Shall countersign our rights!

Then spread the flaming banner O'er mountain, lake, and plain, Before its bars, degraded Mars Has kissed the dust with all his stars, And will be struck again; For could its triumph now be stayed By h.e.l.l's prevailing gates, A sceptred Union would be made The grave of sovereign States.

THE MARCH.

BY JOHN W. OVERALL.

Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!

Go the Southern braves to battle, How they shine, each gleaming line!

Flashing sabers! how they rattle!

Every lip is now compressed, Every heart now yearns for glory, Every eye with patriot fire Burns for battle fierce and gory!

Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!

Death is in each hidden saber, Reaper of the fields of Time, Look ye for a giant's labor!

How sublime! when patriots feel All the strength of self-reliance, Marching on to meet the foe, With a stern and grim defiance!

See how proudly floats our flag!

White! our cause is pure and grand, man!

Red! a living flood shall flow From every foe now in the land, man!

Blue! aye, heaven's stars are there!

Sparkling in their azure beauty!

Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!

Go the messengers of duty!

SOUTHERN WAR SONG.

BY N. P. W.