An ancient Chronicle has told
That, in the famous days of old,
In Antioch under ground
The self-same lance was found--
Unbitten by corrosive rust--
The lance the Roman soldier thrust
In CHRIST'S bare side upon the Tree;
And that it brought
A mighty spell
To those who fought
The Infidel
And mighty victory.
And so this day
To you I say--
Speaking for millions of true Southern men--
In words that have no undertow--
I say, and say agen:
Come weal, or woe,
Should this Republic ever fight,
By land, or sea,
For present law, or ancient right
The South will be
As was that lance,
Albeit not found
Hid under ground
But in the forefront of the first advance!
'Twill fly a pennon fair
As ever kissed the air,
On it, for every glance,
Shall blaze majestic France
Blent with our Hero's name
In everlasting flame,
And written, fair in gold,
This legend on its fold:
Give us back the ties of Yorktown!
Perish all the modern hates!
Let us stand together, brothers,
In defiance of the Fates;
FOR THE SAFETY OF THE UNION
IS THE SAFETY OF THE STATES!