Arm for the Southern Land,
All fear of death disdaining;
Low lay the tyrant band,
Our sacred rights profaning!
Each hero draws in Freedom's cause,
And meets the foe with bravery;
The servile race, and Tory base,
May safety seek in slavery.
Chains for the dastard knave--
Recreant limbs should wear them;
But blessings on the brave
Whose valor will not bear them!
Stand by your injured State,
And let no feuds divide you;
On tyrants pour your hate,
And common vengeance guide you.
Our foes should feel proud freemen's steel,
For freemen's rights contending;
Where'er they die, there let them lie,
To dust in scorn descending.
Thus may each traitor fall
Who dare as foe invade us;
Eternal fame to all
Who shall in battle aid us!
Proud land! shall she invoke
Another's hand to right her?
No! her own avenging stroke
Shall backward roll the smiter.
Ye tyrant band, with ropes of sand
Go bind the rushing river;
More weak and vain your cursed chain,
While God is freedom's giver.
Then welcome to the day
We meet the proud oppressor,
For God will be our stay,
Our right hand and redresser.