CONFEDERATE LAND.

By H. H. Strawbridge.

States of the South! Confederate Land!
Our foe has come—the hour is nigh;
His bale-fires rise on every hand—
Rise as one man, to do or die!
From mountain, vale, and prairie wide,
From forest vast, and field, and glen,
And crowded city, pour thy tide,
Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men!
Chorus—Up! old and young; the weak, be strong!
Rise for the right,—hurl back the wrong,
And foot to foot, and hand to hand,
Strike for our own Confederate Land!
Make every house, and rock, and tree,
And hill, your forts; and fen and flood
Yield not! our soil shall rather be
One waste of flame, one sea of blood!
On! though perennial be the strife,
For honor dear, for hearthstone fires;
Give blow for blow! take life for life!
“Strike! ’till the last armed foe expires!”
Chorus.

WE’LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND.

By R. E. Holtz.

Air—“Gideon’s Band.”

The boys down South in Dixie’s land,
The boys down South in Dixie’s land,
The boys down South in Dixie’s land
Will come and rescue Maryland.
Chorus.—If you will join the Dixie band,
Here’s my heart and here’s my hand,
If you will join the Dixie band;
We’re fighting for a home.
The Northern foes have trod us down,
The Northern foes have trod us down,
The Northern foes have trod us down,
But we will rise with true renown.
Chorus.
The tyrants they must leave our door,
The tyrants they must leave our door,
The tyrants they must leave our door,
Then we’ll be free in Baltimore.
Chorus.
These hirelings they’ll never stand,
These hirelings they’ll never stand,
These hirelings they’ll never stand,
Whenever they see the Southern band.
Chorus.

Old Abe has got into a trap,
Old Abe has got into a trap,
Old Abe has got into a trap,
And he can’t get out with his Scotch cap.
Chorus.
Nobody’s hurt is easy spun,
Nobody’s hurt is easy spun,
Nobody’s hurt is easy spun,
But the Yankees caught it at Bull Run.
Chorus.
We’ll rally to Jeff Davis true,
Beauregard and Johnston, too,
Magruder, Price, and General Bragg,
And give three cheers for the Southern Flag.
Chorus.
We’ll drink this toast to one and all,
Keep cocked and primed for the Southern call;
The day will come, we’ll make a stand,
Then we’ll be free in Maryland.
Chorus.
January 30, 1862.