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Page 14
_"Liberty is always won where there exists the unconquerable will to be
free."_
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
By all the stars which burn on high--
By the green earth--the mighty sea--
By God's unshaken majesty,
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll!
Let all the trumpets blow!
Mind, heart, and soul,
We spurn control
Attempted by a foe!
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
And, vainly now the Northmen try
To beat us down--in arms we stand
To strike for this our native land!
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.
Born free, we thus resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
Our wives and children look on high,
Pray God to smile upon the right!
And bid us in the deadly fight
As freemen live or die!
Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
And ere we cease this battle-cry,
Be all our blood, our kindred's spilt,
On bayonet or sabre hilt!
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
Defiant let the banners fly,
Shake out their glories to the air,
And, kneeling, brothers, let us swear
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.
Born free, thus we resolve to live:
By Heaven we will be free!
And to this oath the dead reply--
Our valiant fathers' sacred ghosts--
These with us, and the God of hosts,
We will be free or die!
Then let the drums all roll! etc., etc.
The Battle-Cry of the South.
By James R. Randall.
Arm yourselves and be valiant men, and see that ye be in readiness against
the morning, that ye may fight with these nations that are assembled
against us, to destroy us and our sanctuary. For it is better for us to
die in battle than to behold the calamities of our people and our
sanctuary.--_Maccabees I._
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,[1]
And the God of the Maccabees!
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