The North may think that the South will yield,
And seek for a place in the Union again;
But never will Southrons abandon the field
And place themselves under _tyrannical reign_.
Sooner by far would we yield to the grave,
Than form an alliance with so hated a foe;
To join the "old Union" would be to enslave
Ourselves, our children, in want and in woe!
What! sons of the South! submit to be ruled
By the minions of Abraham Lincoln, the fool?
Our fair ones insulted--our wealth all controlled
By Yankees, free negroes, and every such tool!
Heaven forbid it! and arm us with might,
To drive back our foes, and grind them to dust!
In every conflict may we put them to flight,
Aided by thee, thou God of the just!
Our bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high,
To prevail in the cause is dearer than life,
Or crushed in its ruins to die!
The battle is not to the strong we know,
But to the just, the true, and the brave--
With faith in our GOD, right onward we'll go,
Our country, our loved ones, to save.