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Clime of the Sun! Home of the Brave!

Thy sons are bold and free,
And pour life's crimson tide to save

Their birthright, Liberty!
Their fertile fields and sunny plains

That yield thee wealth alone,
That's coveted for greedy gains
By despots

and a throne !

Proud country! battling, bleeding, torn,

Thy altars desolate; Thy lovely dark-eyed daughters mourn

At war's relentless fate;
And widows' prayers, and orphans' tears,

Her homes will consecrate,
While more than brass or marble rears

The trophy of her great.

Oh! land that boasts each gallant name

Of Jackson, Johnson, Lee,
And hosts of valiant sons, whose fame

Extends beyond the sea;
Far rather let thy plains become,

From gulf to mountain cave,
One honored sepulchre and tomb,

Than we the tyrant's slave!

Fair, favored land! thou mayst be free,

Redeemed by blood and war; Through agony and gloom we see

Thy hope—a glimmering star;
Thy banner, too, may proudly float,

A herald on the seas-
Thy deeds of daring worlds remote

Will emulate and praise!

But who can paint the impulse pure

That thrills and nerves thy brave To deeds of valor that secure

The rights their fathers gave?

Oh! grieve not, hearts; her matchless slain

Crowned with the warrior's wreath,
From beds of fame their proud refrain

Was "Liberty or Death!”




[When the British fleet in 1814 approached Fort McHenry at Baltimore, Francis Scott Key was on board. He had gone to intercede with Admiral Cockburn for the release of Dr. William Beanes. Key watched the battle from his own ship during the whole night and did not know till morning, when he saw the American flag still Hoating, that Fort McHenry had not capitulated. "The Star-Spangled Banner" was written immediately afterward. The stanzaic structure was suggested by the popular air "To Anacreon in Heaven." In 1859. a volume of Key's poems was published in Baltimore with an introductory letter by his brother-in-law, Chief Justice Taney, but the contents add nothing to the author's fame. The only other popular poem that he ever wrote was the hymn beginning "Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise thee.”] O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleamingWhose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous

fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bomb bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land

Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto,-"In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!



[This poem is found in practically all anthologies of American verse and has taken its place as perhaps the most graphic and condensed pen-portrait of Jackson that has been made. Mr. Palmer was born in Baltimore, Maryland, April 4, 1825, and died in 1906. He was the author of many volumes of prose and verse.)

Come, stack arms, men; pile on the rails;

Stir up the camp-fire bright!
No growling if the canteen fails;

We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
Here burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,
To swell the brigade's rousing song,

Of "Stonewall Jackson's way.”

We see him now--the queer slouch hat

Cocked o'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,

So calm, so blunt, so true.
The "Bluelight Elder" knows 'em well.
Says he, “That's Banks; he's fond of shell,
Lord, save his soul! We'll give him”-well,

That's Stonewall Jackson's way.

Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off!

Old Massa's going to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff.

Attention! it's his way.

Appealing from his native sod,
In forma pauperis to God,
"Lay bare thine arm! Stretch forth thy rod.

Amen." That's Stonewall's way.
He's in the saddle now. Fall in,

Steady the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win

His way out, ball and blade.
What matter if our shoes are worn?

What matter if our feet are torn?
Quick step! We're with him before morn-

That's Stonewall Jackson's way.
The sun's bright lances rout the mists

Of morning; and, by George!
Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,

Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Dutchmen! whipped before.
"Bay'nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar.
Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score

In Stonewall Jackson's way.
Ah! maiden, wait and watch and yearn

For news of Stonewall's band.
Ah! widow, read with eyes that burn

That ring upon thy hand.
Ah! wife, sew' on, pray on, hope on;
Thy life shall not be all forlorn;
The foe had better ne'er been born

That gets in Stonewalls way.


[This song, modeled on "The Old-Time Religion," is a favorite at Confederate reunions and on Memorial Days. It can hardly claim an author but has been gradually built up and added to year after year, by successive singers.]

We are a band of brothers,
We are a band of brothers,
A band of Southern brothers,

Who fought for Liberty.

We're old-time Confederates,
We're old-time Confederates,
We're old-time Confederates,

They're good enough for me.
Jeff Davis was our leader,
Our only chosen leader,
Our true and faithful leader,

He was good enough for me. Lee and Johnston were our chieftains, Bragg, Beauregard, and Johnson, These were glorious chieftains,

They were good enough for me. We follow'd Stonewall Jackson, The Christian soldier Jackson, The terror-striking Jackson,

He was good enough for me. We fought with Hood and Gordon, With Longstreet, Polk, and Cleburne, With Ewell, Hill, and Hardee;

They were good enough for me. We rode with Stuart, Hampton, With Fitz Lee, Duke, and Morgan, With Forrest and Joe Wheeler,

They were good enough for me. We wore ourselves out fighting, We wore ourselves out fighting, We wore ourselves out fighting,

For Southern liberty.

Now our country is united,
Now our country is united,
Now our country is united,

It's good enough for me.

We must all meet in heaven,
We must all meet in heaven,
We must all meet in heaven,

To rejoice eternally.

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