All hail to the great king,
Quick to him your tribute bring;
Join now the mighty ring,
Who loud his praises sing,
When the tempests o’er ye roar,
In the dreadest darkest hour,
When fell clouds around ye lower,
Mark! oh mark his magic power.
Feeding hundreds is his pleasure,
Aye, and thousands at his leisure;
For his wealth is without measure,
Far surpassing Northern treasure.
By the blockade he is bound,
In our Southern regions found;
Let him hear the gladsome sound,
Of your warlike chorus round.
Let him once again be free
To help the nations over the sea;
For of your wealth he holds the key
To give you joy or misery.
Now that this cruel war’s begun,
Forward every sire and son;
Strike until the Yankees run,
’Till youv’e again his freedom won.
Hear Abe Lincoln loudly rave,
By murder he’ll the Union save;
But he’ll find each Southern brave
Serving nobly to the grave.
Hear the Northmen in their pride,
Boldly his great strength deride;
Forgetting that their hundreds died
Leaving victory on his side.
The image is before your sight,
How he gained Manassas’ fight;
Shewing the true Southern might
Battling nobly for the right.
When you’ve gained the victory,
Yes, when your heads are hoary,
You’ll love to tell of Northern foray
Which served but to increase his