Oh! see ye not the sight sublime,
Unequaled in all previous time,
Presented in this Southern clime,
The home of chivalry?
A warlike race of freemen stand,
With martial front and sword in hand,
Defenders of their native land,--
The sons of Liberty.
Unawed by numbers, they defy
The tyrant North, nor will they fly,
Resolved to conquer or to die,
And win a glorious name.
Sprung from renowned heroic sires,
Inflamed with patriotic fires,
Their bosoms burn with fierce desires,
They thirst for victory.
'Tis not the love of bloody strife,
The horrid sacrifice of life,
But thoughts of mother, sister, wife,
That stir their manly hearts.
A sense of honor bids them go,
To meet a hireling, ruthless foe,
And deal in wrath the deadly blow
Which vengeance loud demands.
In freedom's sacred cause they fight,
For Independence, Justice, Right,
And to resist a desperate might.
And by Manassas' glorious name,
And by Missouri's fields of fame,
We hear them swear, with one acclaim,
We'll triumph or we'll die!