Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling,
Arm, Arm! your struggling country calls--
Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing,
From Sumter's high embattled walls!
Shall a fanatic horde in power
Send forth a base and hireling band,
To desolate our happy land,
And make our Southern freemen cower.
To arms, to arms! each one,
The sword unsheathe, raise the gun,
Then on, rush on, ye brave and free,
To death or victory.
Now clouds of war begin to gather,
And black and murky is our sky--
Shall we submit--no, never, never!
Let death or freedom be our cry--
In Heaven's justice firm relying,
We'll nobly struggle to be free,
And bravely gain our liberty,
Or die, our Northern foes defying.
To arms, to arms! each one, etc.
The peaceful homes of Texas burning,
And Harper's Ferry's blood-stained soil,
Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning
For murder, pillage, crime, and spoil.
Shall we our feelings longer smother,
And bear with patience yet our wrongs,
Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs,
And greet them still as friend and brother?
To arms, to arms! each one, etc.
Their tyranny we'll bear no longer,
But burst asunder every tie,
Although in numbers they are stronger,
We will be free, or we will die!
Too long the South has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger Yankees wield,
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms, to arms, each one, etc.
_Beauregard Songster._