Words by George H. Miles; Music by C. W. A. Ellerbrock; Permission of A. E. Blackmar.

[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass, owner of the copyright.]

God save the South,
God save the South,
Her altars and firesides,
God save the South,
Now that the war is nigh,
Chanting our battle-cry
Freedom or death.
Chorus—Now that the war is nigh,
Now that we arm to die,
Chanting the battle cry,
Freedom or death.

God be our shield,
At home or afield,
Stretch thine arm over us,
Strengthen and save.
What tho’ they’re three to one,
Forward each sire and son,
Strike till the war is won,
Strike to the grave.
Chorus.
God made the right,
Stronger than might,
Millions would trample us
Down in their pride.
Lay Thou their legions low,
Roll back the ruthless foe,
Let the proud spoiler know
God’s on our side.
Chorus.
Hark honor’s call,
Summoning all,
Summoning all of us
Unto the strife.
Sons of the South awake!
Strike till the brand shall break,
Strike for dear Honor’s sake,
Freedom and Life.
Chorus.
Rebels before,
Our fathers of yore,
Rebels the righteous name
Washington bore.
Why, then be our’s the same,
The name that he snatch’d from shame,
Making it first in fame,
Foremost in war.
Chorus.
War to the hilt,
Their’s be the guilt,
Who fetter the freeman,
To ransom the slave.
Up, then, and undismayed,
Sheathe not the battle blade
Till the last foe is laid
Low in the grave!
Chorus.
God save the South,
God save the South,
Dry the dim eyes that now
Follow our path.
Still let the light feet rove
Safe through the orange grove;
Still keep the land we love
Safe from Thy wrath.
Chorus.
God save the South,
God save the South,
Her altars and firesides,
God save the South!
For the great war is nigh,
And we will win or die,
Chanting our battle cry,
Freedom or death.
Chorus.

“ALLONS ENFANS.”

The Southern Marseillaise.

By A. E. Blackmar, New Orleans, 1861.

[The music of this song can be obtained of Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass.]

Sons of the South awake to glory,
A thousand voices bid you rise,
Your children, wives and grandsires hoary,
Gaze on you now with trusting eyes,
Gaze on you now with trusting eyes;
Your country ev’ry strong arm calling,
To meet the hireling Northern band
That comes to desolate the land
With fire and blood and scenes appalling,
To arms, to arms, ye brave;
Th’ avenging sword unsheath!
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
Now, now, the dang’rous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous brothers madly raise,
The dogs of war let loose, are howling
And soon our peaceful towns may blaze,
And soon our peaceful towns may blaze.
Shall fiends who basely plot our ruin,
Unchecked, advance with guilty stride
To spread destruction far and wide,
With Southrons’ blood their hands embruing?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th’ avenging sword unsheath!
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.
With needy, starving mobs surrounded,
The jealous, blind fanatics dare
To offer, in their zeal unbounded,
Our happy slaves their tender care,
Our happy slaves their tender care.
The South, though deepest wrongs bewailing,
Long yielded all to Union name;
But Independence now we claim,
And all their threats are unavailing.
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th’ avenging sword unsheath!
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death,
March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death.