The Briton boasts his coat of red,
With lace and spangles decked;
In garb of green the French are seen,
With gaudy colors flecked;
The Yankees strut in dingy blue,
And epaulets display;
Our Southern girls more proudly view
The uniform of gray.
That dress is worn by gallant hearts
Who every foe defy,
Who stalwart stand, with battle-brand,
To conquer or to die!
They fight for freedom, hope and home,
And honor’s voice obey,
And proudly wear where’er they roam
The uniform of gray.
What though ’tis stained with crimson hues,
And dim with dust and smoke,
By bullets torn, and rent and shorn
By many a hostile stroke;
The march, the camp, the bivouac,
The onset and the fray
But only serve more dear to make
The uniform of gray.
When wild war’s tiger-strife is past,
And liberty restored;
When independence reigns at last,
By valor’s arm secured;
The South will stand, erect and grand,
And loftiest honors pay
To those who bore her flag, and wore
The uniform of gray.
And woman’s love, man’s best reward,
Shall cluster round their path,
And soothe and cheer the volunteer
Who dared the foeman’s wrath.
Bright wreaths she’ll bring, and roses fling
Around his triumph-way,
And long in song thy fame prolong
Old uniform of gray.

“WE CONQUER OR DIE.”

BY JAMES PIERPONT.

The war drum is beating, prepare for the fight,
The stern bigot Northman exults in his might,
Gird on your bright weapons, your foemen are nigh;
Let this be our watchword, “We conquer or die!”
The trumpet is sounding from mountain to shore,
Your swords and your lances must slumber no more,
Fling forth to the sunlight your banner on high,
Inscribed with the watchword, “We conquer or die!”
March to the battlefield, there 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 re-echoes “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 honor 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!”

SONS OF FREEDOM.

BY NANNY GRAY.

Sons of freedom, on to glory
Go, where brave men do or die,
Let your names in future story
Gladden every patriot’s eye;
’Tis your country calls you, hasten!
Backward hurl the invading foe;
Freemen never think of danger,—
To the glorious battle go!

Oh! remember gallant Jackson,
Single-handed in the fight,
Death-blows dealt the fierce marauder,
For his liberty and right;
Tho’ he fell beneath their thousands,
Who that covets not his fame?
Grand and glorious, brave and noble,
Henceforth shall be Jackson’s name.
Sons of freedom, can you linger
When you hear the battle’s roar,
Fondly dallying with your pleasures
When the foe is at your door?
Never! no! we fear no idlers,
“Death or freedom”’s now the cry,
’Till the stars and bars, triumphant,
Spread their folds to every eye.
Richmond Whig.