[The music of this song can be procured of the Oliver Ditson Co., Boston, Mass., owners of the copyright.]

Ye men of Southern hearts and feeling,
Arm! arm! your struggling country calls!
Hear ye the guns now loudly pealing,
From Sumpter’s high embattled walls!
Shall a fanatic horde in power
Send forth a base and hireling band
To desolate our happy land
And make our Southern freemen cower?

Chorus—To arms, to arms! each one,
Th’ sword unsheathe, and raise the gun,
Then on, rush on, ye brave and free,
To death and victory.

Now clouds of war begin to gather,
And black and murky is our sky—
Shall we submit—no, never, never!
Let death or freedom be our cry—
In Heaven’s justice firm relying,
We’ll nobly struggle to be free,
And bravely gain our liberty,
Or die our Northern foes defying.

The peaceful homes of Texas burning,
And Harper’s Ferry’s blood-stained soil,
Proclaim how strong their hearts are yearning,
For murder, pillage, crime and spoil.
Shall we our feelings longer smother,
And bear with patience yet our wrongs,
Their jeers, their crimes, their taunts and thongs
And greet them still as friend and brother?

Their tyranny we’ll bear no longer,
But burst asunder every tie,
Although in number they are stronger,
We will be free, or we will die!
Too long the South has wept, bewailing,
That falsehood’s dagger Yankees wield,
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.