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Page 65
We bow at Liberty's fair shrine,
And kneel in holy love at thine,
And while above our stars still shine,
We'll strike for them and Georgia!
Thy woods with victory shall resound,
Thy brow shall be with laurels crowned,
And peace shall spread her wings around
My own, my sunny Georgia!
Yes, these shall teach thy foes to feel
That Southern hearts, and Southern steel,
Will make them in submission kneel
Before the sons of Georgia!
And thou shalt see thy daughters, too,
With pride and patriotism true,
Arise with strength to dare and do,
Ere they shall conquer Georgia.
Thy name shall be a name of pride--
Thy heroes all have nobly died,
That thou mayst be the spotless bride
Of Liberty, my Georgia!
Then wave thy sword and banner high,
And louder raise the battle-cry,
'Till shouts of victory reach the sky,
And thou art free, my Georgia!
Song of the Texas Rangers.
Air--_The Yellow Rose of Texas_.
The morning star is paling,
The camp-fires flicker low,
Our steeds are madly neighing,
For the bugle bids us go.
So put the foot in stirrup,
And shake the bridle free,
For to-day the Texas Rangers
Must cross the Tennessee,
With Wharton for our leader,
We'll chase the dastard foe,
Till our horses bathe their fetlocks
In the deep blue Ohio.
Our men are from the prairies,
That roll broad and proud and free,
From the high and craggy mountains
To the murmuring Mexic' sea;
And their hearts are open as their plains,
Their thoughts as proudly brave
As the bold cliffs of the San Bernard,
Or the Gulf's resistless wave.
Then quick! into the saddle,
And shake the bridle free,
To-day, with gallant Wharton,
We cross the Tennessee.
'Tis joy to be a Ranger!
To fight for dear Southland;
'Tis joy to follow Wharton,
With his gallant, trusty band!
'Tis joy to see our Harrison,
Plunge like a meteor bright
Into the thickest of the fray,
And deal his deathly might.
Oh! who'd not be a Ranger,
And follow Wharton's cry!
To battle for his country--
And, if it needs be--die!
By the Colorado's waters,
On the Gulf's deep murmuring shore,
On our soft green peaceful prairies
Are the homes we may see no more;
But in those homes our gentle wives,
And mothers with silv'ry hairs,
Are loving us with tender hearts,
And shielding us with prayers.
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