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Lower the proud oppressor's crest! Or, if he should prove the best, Dead, not dishonored, rest On the field of blood !
We—may God so give us grace !— Sons will rear, to take your place; Strong- the foeman's steel to face— Strong* in heart and hand!
Death your serried ranks may sweep, Proud shall be the tears we weep, Sacredly our hearts shall keep Memory of your deeds !
Though our land be left forlorn, Spirit of the Southern-born, Northern rage shall laugh to scorn— Northern hosts defy.
He that last is doomed to die Shall, with his expiring sigh, Send aloft the battle-cry,
" God defend the right!" |
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