THE BATTLE CRY OF THE SOUTH
Brothers! the thunder cloud is black,
And the wail of the South wings forth;
Will ye cringe to the hot tornado’s rack,
And the Vampires of the North?
Strike! ye can win a martyr’s goal,
Strike! with a ruthless hand;
Strike with the vengeance of the soul
For your bright, beleaguered land!
To arms! to arms! for the South needs help,
And a craven is he who flees—
For ye have the sword of the Lion’s whelp,
And the God of the Maccabees!
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