But a base foe comes from the regions of crime, With a heart all hot with the flames of hell; And the tones of the bell you have loved so long No more on the air shall swell: For the people's chief, With his proud belief That his country's cause is God's own, Would change the song, The hills have rung To the thunder's harsher tone. Then take me down from the village church, Where in peace so long I have hung; But I charge you, by all the loved and lost, _Remember the songs I have sung_. Remember the mound Of holy ground Where your father and mother lie And swear by the love For the dead above To beat your foul foe, or die. Then take me; but when (I charge you this) You have come to the bloody field, That the bell of God, to a cannon grown, You will ne'er to the foeman yield. By the love of the past, Be that hour your last, When the foe has reached this trust; And make him a bed Of patriot dead, And let him sleep in this holy dust.[6] "WE COME! WE COME!" BY MILLIE MAYFIELD.[7] We come! we come for Death or Life, For the Grave or Victory! We come to the broad Red Sea of strife, Where the black flag waveth free! We come as Men, to do or die, Nor feel that the lot is hard, When _our_ Hero calls--and our battle-cry Is "On, to Beauregard!" Up, craven, up! 'tis no time for ease, When the crimson war-tide rolls To our very doors--up, up, for these Are times to try men's souls! The purple gore calls from the sod Of our martyred brothers' graves, And raises a red right hand to God To guard our avenging braves. And unto the last bright drop that thrills The depths of the Southern heart, We must battle for our sunny hills, For the freedom of our Mart-- For all that Honor claims, or Right-- For Country, Love, and Home! Shout to the trampling steeds of Might Our cry--"We come! we come!" And let our path through their serried ranks Be the fierce tornado's track, That bursts from the torrid's fervid banks And scatters destruction black! For the hot life leaping in the veins Of our young Confederacy, Must break for aye the galling chains Of dark-browed Treachery. On! on! 'tis our gallant chieftain calls (He must not call in vain), For aid to guard his homestead walls-- Our Hero of the Plain! We come! we come, to do or die, Nor feel that the lot is hard: "God and our Rights!" be our battle cry, And, "On, to Beauregard!" MANASSAS. BY A REBEL. Upon our country's border lay, Holding the ruthless foe at bay, Through chilly night and burning day, Our army at Manassas. To them our eager eyes were turned, While many a restless spirit burned, And many a fond heart wildly yearned, O'er loved ones at Manassas.