The spirit of the fathers in the children liveth yet;
Liveth still the olden blood which dimmed the foreign bayonet;
And the fathers fought for freedom, and the sons for freedom fight;
Their God was with the fathers--and is still the God of right!

Behold! the skies are darkened! A gloomy cloud hath lowered!
Shall it break before the sun of peace, or spread in rage impowered?
Shall we have the smile of friendship, or shall it be the blow?
Shall it be the right hand to the friend, or the red hand to the foe?

In peacefulness we wish to live, but not in slavish fear;
In peacefulness we dare not die, dishonored on our bier.
To our allies of the Northern land we offer heart and hand,
But if they scorn our friendship--then the banner and the brand!

Honor to the new-born nation! and honor to the brave!
A country freed from thraldom, or a soldier's honored grave.
Every step shall be contested; every rivulet run red,
And the invader, should he conquer, find the conquered in the dead.

But victory shall follow where the sons of freedom go,
And the signal for the onset be the death-knell of the foe;
And hallowed shall the spot be where he was so bravely met,
And the star which yonder rises, rises never more to set.




The Irrepressible Conflict.