March on the battlefield, there to do or dare,
With shoulder to shoulder, all danger to share,
And let your proud watchword ring up to the sky,
Till the blue arch reëchoes, "We conquer or die."
Press forward undaunted nor think of retreat,
The enemy's host on the threshold to meet;
Strike firm, till the foeman before you shall fly,
Appalled by the watchword, "We conquer or die."
Go forth in the pathway our forefathers trod;
We, too, fight for freedom—our Captain is God,
Their blood in our veins, with their honors we vie,
Theirs, too, was the watchword, "We conquer or die."
We strike for the South—Mountain, Valley, and Plain,
For the South we will conquer again and again;
Her day of salvation and triumph is nigh,
Ours, then, be the watchword, "We conquer or die."
James Pierpont.
"CALL ALL"
Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose,
Roaring round like the very deuce!
Lice of Egypt, a hungry pack,—
After 'em, boys, and drive 'em back.
Bull-dog, terrier, cur, and fice,
Back to the beggarly land of ice;
Worry 'em, bite 'em, scratch and tear
Everybody and everywhere.
Old Kentucky is caved from under,
Tennessee is split asunder,
Alabama awaits attack,
And Georgia bristles up her back.
Old John Brown is dead and gone!
Still his spirit is marching on,—
Lantern-jawed, and legs, my boys,
Long as an ape's from Illinois!