BY MRS. MARY WARE.

I.
Oh, sing of our glorious Southland,
The pride of the golden sun!
’Tis the fairest land of flowers
The eye e’er looked upon.
Sing of her orange and myrtle,
That glitter like gems above;
Sing of her dark-eyed maidens
As fair as a dream of love.
Sing of her flowing rivers—
How musical their sound!
Sing of her dark-green forests,
The Indian hunting-ground.
Sing of the noble nation,
Fierce struggling to be free;
Sing of the brave who barter
Their lives for liberty!
II.
Weep for the maid and matron
Who mourn their loved ones slain;
Sigh for the light departed,
Never to shine again.
’Tis the voice of Rachel weeping,
That never will comfort know;
’Tis the wail of desolation,
The breaking of hearts in woe!
III.
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.

OLD BETSY.

BY JOHN KILLUM.

Come, with the rifle so long in your keeping,
Clean the old gun up and hurry it forth;
Better to die while “Old Betsy” is speaking
Than live with arms folded the slave of the North.
Hear ye the yelp of the North-wolf resounding,
Scenting the blood of the warm-hearted South;
Quick! or his villainous feet will be bounding
Where the gore of our maidens may drip from his mouth.
Oft in the wildwood “Old Bess” has relieved you,
When the fierce bear was cut down in his track—
If at that moment she never deceived you,
Trust her to-day with this ravenous pack.
Then come, with the rifle so long in your keeping,
Clean the old girl up and hurry her forth;
Better to die while “Old Betsy” is speaking
Than live with arms folded the slave of the North.

NO SURRENDER.

Ever constant, ever true,
Let the word be, No Surrender.
Boldly dare and greatly do!
They shall bring us safely through,
No Surrender; No Surrender.
And though Fortune’s smiles be few,
Hope is always springing new,
Still inspiring me and you,
With a magic No Surrender.
Nail the colors to the mast,
Shouting gladly, No Surrender;
Troubles near are all but past,
Serve them as you did the last.
No Surrender, No Surrender;
Though the skies be overcast,
And upon the sleety blast
Disappointment gathers fast,
Beat them off with No Surrender!

Constant and courageous still,
Mind, the word is, No Surrender;
Battle, though it be up hill,
Stagger not at seeming ill,
No Surrender, No Surrender.
Hope, and thus your hope fulfill;
There’s a way where there’s a will,
And the way all cares to kill
Is to give them No Surrender.
N. P. W.