Ah! the blood of Abel crieth
For vengeance from the sod!
'Tis a brother's hand that's lifted
In the face of an angry God!
Oh! brother of the Northland,
We plead from our father's grave;
We strike for our homes and altars,
He fought to build and save!
A smoldering fire is burning,
The Southern heart is steeled--
Perhaps 'twill break in dying,
But never will it yield.