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First in the fight, and first in the arms
Of the white-winged angels of glory, With the heart of the South at the feet of God,
And his wounds to tell the story;
For the blood that flowed from his hero heart,
On the spot where he nobly perished, Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament
In the holy cause he cherished !
In Heaven a home with the brave and blessed,
And for his soul's sustaining The apocalyptic eyes of Christ
And nothing on earth remaining,
But a handful of dust in the land of his choice,
A name in song and story-
DEAD ON THE FIELD OF GLORY!
I Word with the West. (vii)
ONCE more to the breach for the Land of the West ! And a leader we give, of our bravest and best,
Of his State and his army the pride; Hope shines like the plume of Navarre on his crest,
And gleams in the glaive at his side.
For his courage is keen and his honor is bright
Newly wrought in the forges of Spain, (vii.) And this weapon, like all he has brandished for Right,
Will never be dimmed by a stain.
He leaves the loved soil of Virginia behind,
Where lie the fresh fields of his fame; Where the murmurous pines, (ix.) as they sway in the
The Johnstons have always borne wings on their spurs, And their motto a noble distinction confers,
“Ever Ready"-for friend or for foe
With a patriot's fervor the sentiment stirs
The large, manly heart of our JOE.
We recall that a former bold chief of the clan
On Shiloh's illustrious day;
The dark, bloody debt to repay.
There is much to be done: if not glory to seek, There's a just and a terrible vengeance to wreak
For crimes of a terrible dye, While the plaint of the helpless, the wail of the weak
In a chorus rise up to the sky.
For the Wolf of the North, we once drove to his
den, That quailed in affright ’neath the stern glance of
With his pack has returned to the spoil; Then come from the hamlet, the mountain, the glen,
And drive him again from the soil !
Brave-born TENNESSEANS, so loyal, so true,
Our leader has never a doubt;
You will troop by the thousand the chase to renew
The day when his bugles ring out.
"OF KENTUCKY” of yore, Where, where are the rifles that kept from your door
The wolf and the robber as well ?
To deal with a savage so fell.
Has the love you once bore to your country grown
cold? Has the fire on the altar died out ? Do you hold
Your lives than your freedom more dear? Can you shamefully barter your birthright for gold,
Or basely take counsel of fear?
We will not believe it-KENTUCKY, the land
That disgraces the dastard, the slave; The hour of redemption draws nigh—is at hand
Her own sons her own honor shall save!
Mighty men of MISSOURI, come forth to the call, With the rush of your rivers when tempests appall,
And the torrents their sources unseal;
And this be the watchword of one and of all
“Remember the butcher, McNIEL!”
Then once more to the breach for the land of the
West ! Strike home for your hearts—for the lips you love
Follow on where your Leader you see ! One flash of his sword when the foe is hard pressed,
And the Land of the West shall be free!