They sing of the East,
With its flowery feast,
And clime of the North, with its mountains of snow;
But give me the land
Where the breezes blow bland,
O’er realms of magnolia and myrtle below.
The land of the South,
The fair sunny South,
The flower-crowned South,
In its grandeur for me.
Her sons are aye brave,
And no chains can enslave,
Though countless the hordes of their foemen may be;
Ah! see, even now,
As with battle-stained brow,
They vanquish the Northmen on land and on sea!
The land of the South,
The young gallant South,
The invincible South,
In its valor for me.
Her daughters are fair
As the pure lilies there,
And cheer her brave soldiers for freedom to die;
Their smiles are the light
Of the war-clouded night,
Their tears are sweet dew-drops distilled from the sky.
The land of the South,
The sweet rosy South,
The starry-gemmed South,
In its beauty for me!
In green blossomed dales,
And in violet vales,
And fields white with cotton, its dwellings once stood;
The spoilers now seek
Their vile vengeance to wreak,
And darken this Eden with ashes and blood!
The land of the South,
The opulent South,
The long-plundered South,
In its richness for me!
Oh, who would not stand
With his life in his hand,
To shield such a land from the feet of the foe?
God made it thus free,
And oh, perish must we,
Before it can be in bondage laid low!
The land of the South,
The proud sovereign South,
The God-shielded South,
In its freedom for me! |