And while the world was looking on, the strife uncertain grew, But soon aloft rose up our stars amid a field of blue; For Jackson fought on red Chalmette, and won the glorious fight, And then the Wrong went down, hurrah! and triumph crowned the Right! The day has come again, when men who love the beauteous South, To speak, if needs be, for the Right, though by the cannon's mouth; For foes accursed of God and man, with lying speech and song, Would bind, imprison, hang the Right, and deify the Wrong. But canting knave of pen and sword, nor sanctimonious fool, Shall ever win this Southern land, to cripple, bind, and rule; We'll muster on each bloody plain, thick as the stars of night, And, through the help of God, the Wrong shall perish by the Right. _New Orleans True Delta._ TO MY SOLDIER BROTHER. BY SALLIE E. BALLARD. When softly gathering shades of ev'n Creep o'er the prairies broad and green, And countless stars bespangle heav'n, And fringe the clouds with silv'ry sheen, My fondest sigh to thee is giv'n, My lonely wand'ring soldier-boy; And thoughts of thee Steal over me Like ev'ning shades, my soldier boy. My brother, though thou'rt far away, And dangers hurtle round thy path, And battle lightnings o'er thee play, And thunders peal in awful wrath, Think, whilst thou'rt in the hot affray, Thy sister prays for thee, my boy. If fondest prayer Can shield thee there, Sweet angels guard my soldier boy. Thy proud young heart is beating high To clash of arms and cannons' roar; That firm set lip and flashing eye Tell how thy heart is brimming o'er. Be free and live, be free or die! Be that thy motto now, my boy; And though thy name's Unknown to fame's 'Tis graven on my heart, my boy. THE SOUTH IN ARMS. BY REV. J. H. MARTIN. Oh! see ye not the sight sublime, Unequaled in all previous time, Presented in this Southern clime, The home of chivalry? A warlike race of freemen stand, With martial front and sword in hand, Defenders of their native land,-- The sons of Liberty. Unawed by numbers, they defy The tyrant North, nor will they fly, Resolved to conquer or to die, And win a glorious name. Sprung from renowned heroic sires, Inflamed with patriotic fires, Their bosoms burn with fierce desires, They thirst for victory. 'Tis not the love of bloody strife, The horrid sacrifice of life, But thoughts of mother, sister, wife, That stir their manly hearts. A sense of honor bids them go, To meet a hireling, ruthless foe, And deal in wrath the deadly blow Which vengeance loud demands.