The Battle Call


WEST & JOHNSTON, Publishers, 145 Main Street, Richmond, Va.

The Battle Call.

Rise Southmen! the day of your glory,
The hour of your destiny’s near—
The fame of your chivalrous story
All nations are eager to hear.
Cold, cold, though the freezing hail rattles,
O’er corses enshrouded in snow;
Yet the God of your fathers’ old battles
Now urges their children to go.

Come sons of the fair Louisiana!
Forsake the warm glow of your sky—
Unfurl to the free wind your banner,
The day of your destiny’s nigh;
The breath of the South wind is laden
With perfume of tropical flowers;
Come forth! for that beautiful Eden,
And shied from the spoiler your bowers.

Come Texas! send forth your bold Rangers,
The heroes of battles untold—
Accustomed to trials and dangers,
Come! stand by your rights as of old;
The deeds of your chivalrous daring
Are writ on the Alamo’s wall,
A record which ruin is sparing—
Come forth! to your country’s loud call.

Arkansas! send forth your true Rifles,
Your sons all the bravest and best;
The time has now past for the trifles
Of hunting and game in the West—
‘Tis the voice of your country that calls you
Away from your wild forest home;
And now whatsoever befalls you,

Sharp Shooters of Arkansas, come!

O! where are your hunters, Kentucky,
Who filled the whole world with their fame?
The fates, in an hour so unlucky,
Have hidden your valor in shame.
Now, by the brave souls of your fathers,
That look from the portals of Heaven
With blessings from lips of your mothers,
Come forth! and your chains shall be riven.

Hurrah! for the spirit of glory,
The sons of the “Volunteer State;”
There is many a battle field gory,
That tells of their chivalrous fate.
Like spray on the tempest-stirred ocean,
They scattered the foe in his might;
Old Tennessee’s soul is in motion,
Her banners are first in the fight.

Missouri lies fettered and groaning,
And crush’d by oppression and wrath;
O rise! From your desolate mourning,
And follow the foe in his path—
Nor mountains, nor rivers, impeding,
Oppression bath rolled its dark flood:—
The cry of your children unheeding—
The price of your freedom is blood!

Come brave Mississippi, to battle!
The point of your steel has been tried,
The sound of your musketry’s rattle
Is heard by the Southman with pride—
It rose in the morn of your glory,
And down on the future shall set:—
The fame of your chivalrous story,
The Southman can never forget.

The SOLDIER who led forth your legions,
And answered his country’s first call,
Away in those far Southern regions,
Now stands at the head of us all—
Above, his high valor outshining,
The glory of bloody old Mars,
The praise of a nation is twining
Our flag with its girdles and stars

O Maryland! deep we deplore thee,
And weep at thy prison and chains;
But eye of the brave watches o’er thee,
While a spark of thy freedom remains.
Thou may’st bend as the storm rushes o’er thee,
And rock with the tyrant’s dread shake;
O Maryland! deep we deplore thee!
Oppression may bend, but not break.

RICHMOND, February 20th, 1862.
Fair land where my forefathers slumber,
A region of sanctified earth—
The deeds of the brave without number,
Illumine the land of my birth.
Proud Georgia! a sigh and a blessing,
Ere calling thy loved ones to go,
From the soil where the green sod is pressing
The dust of my fathers laid low—

And foremost thy banners were streaming;—
And first, on Manassa’s red plain,
The sword of old Georgia, there gleaming,
Hath cleft the invader in twain.
My country, I may not implore thee!
The brave have not fallen in vain;
Thy sons heard the warning before me,
And hasten to glory again.

Florida! thou region of flowers;
Rich land of the laurel and bay,
Though cradled in warm sunny bowers,
Now hurry thy brave ones away.
Go, twine for thy struggling nation
A garland to wreath its scarr’d brow;
The south wind—a sweet inspiration,
To cheer thy young soldiers on now.

Rise up, in thy strength, Alabama!
An argosy sweeps o’er the sea;
Rush on to the battle’s loud clamor,
Thy children were born to be free!
The fleet of the tyrant is mooring
Along on thy white sandy shore;
No longer their insults enduring,
Go forth to the conflict once more.

A luminous halo is shining
Around the old “Palmetto State;”
The bones of our PROPHET enshrining—
Her brave ones are never too late.
There first from the bonds of oppression
The Southman unloos’d the stronghold;—
There, first heard a nation’s confession
In Sumter’s loud thunderings told—

And thou too, Old North State, art ready!
And watching with sentinel eye;
The range of thy rifles is steady,
At sight of the foe to let fly.
Now come, with the courage of olden!
And firm by thy principles stand;
The cause, shall thy spirits embolden,
Though sons of a valiant old land!

Send forth, Arizona, thy trappers,
Though youngest and weakest of all;
Thy yeomen, thy miners, and choppers,
Must come to the battle’s loud call.
Or, wherefore thy rich hidden treasure,
If tyrants must crush out the ore?
Forego now thy infantile pleasure,
And baptize thy birthright in gore!

Thou rigid old nurse of the nation,
Virginia! great mother of States,
Thy name yields a high inspiration!
To that which the fearless creates.
’Twas here in the grand Old Dominion
That Liberty fledged her young plume;
And waving aloft on its pinion,
The death-seal of tyranny’s doom.

Old home of the heroes! whose ashes
Repose in thy sanctified dust,
Above them the infidel dashes,
Invading thine own hallowed trust.
O spirits of heroes immortal!—
Look down on the whole Southern host,
And see from the heaven-high portal
That Southmen stand true to their post.

Rise Southmen! the day of your glory,
The hour of your destiny’s near—
The fame of your chivalrous story
All nations are eager to hear.
Cold, cold, though the freezing hail rattles,
O’er corses enshrouded in snow;
Yet the God of your fathers’ old battles
Now urges their children to go.

Item Information help

  • Item ID
  • DCMI Type
    Still Image
  • Title
  • Creator
    Vernon, V. E. W. McCord
  • Illustrated
  • Extent
    31 cm x 18 cm
  • Genre
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