Huzza! huzza! let’s raise the battle cry,
And whip the Yankees from our land,
Or with them fall and die;
Rush on our Southern columns,
And make the brigands feel
That all the booty they will get,
Will be our Southern steel.
Chorus.—Huzza! huzza! let’s raise our banner high,
And nobly drive the Yankees out,
Or with them fall and die.
We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters and our wives;
For these, and our country’s rights,
We’ll sacrifice our lives.
Then trusting still to Heaven,
We’ll charge th’ invading host,
Till liberty and independence
Shall be the Nation’s boast.
Chorus.
Then on with our columns—slay the vandal foe—
Beat them from our sunny soil,
And lay their colors low.
To the great God of Nations
Our sacred cause confide,
For we are fighting for our liberty
And He is on our side.
Chorus.

THE SOUTH FOR ME.

The South for me! The sunny clime,
Where earth is clothed in beauty’s hue,
And Nature vies in scenes sublime,
With all the old world ever knew;
I love thy soil where’er I roam,
Sweet land! and when afar from thee,
My fond heart throbs with thoughts of home,
And echoes back “The South for me.”
Chorus.—The South for me, the South for me,
The golden clime, the heart’s desires,
The only land where men are free,
And worthy of their free-born sires.
The South for me! the patriot’s heart
Beats ever to that slogan cry;
And heroes, armed and ready, start
For their loved land to do or die;
But leave the Southron’s valor free,
Let Southern heroes meet the foe,
And when rings out “the South for me,”
Their strong right arms will deal the blow.
Chorus.

The South for me! its bright-eyed maids,
Its clime, its stars, its silvery skies,
Its streamlets, with their lovely naiads,
Its vales, where varying beauties rise,
Its cotton fields, where dusky slaves,
Are happy in protection kind,
The stranger’s home, though Yankee knaves
May never there a welcome find.
Chorus.

CAROLINA.

By Mrs. C. A. B. Music by A. E. B.

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

’Mid her ruins proudly stands,
Our Carolina!
Fetters are upon her hands,
Dear Carolina!
Yet she feels no sense of shame,
For upon the scroll of Fame,
She hath writ a deathless name,
Brave Carolina!
She was first our wrongs to feel,
Our Carolina!
First to draw the glittering steel,
Dear Carolina!
Ready first to strike the blow,
At th’ oppressor and the foe,
And to lay their standard low,
Brave Carolina!
Nobly now she bears her wrongs,
Our Carolina!
In her might she still hath songs,
Dear Carolina!
In the dust her sons lie low,
Yet though stricken by the foe,
Pride is mingled with her woe—
Brave Carolina!
On her brow there is no stain,
Our Carolina!
She hath poured out blood like rain,
Dear Carolina!
Vain her sufferings and her pains,
On her limbs are clanking chains,
But her glory yet remains,
Brave Carolina!
Bitterly we mourn her fate,
Our Carolina!
Cherished old Palmetto State;
Dear Carolina!
Yet while man’s brave soul is free,
Honored proudly she shall be,
Mother of true chivalry!
Brave Carolina!