Huzza! huzza! let's raise the battle-cry, And whip the Yankees from our land, Or with them fall and die. Rush on our Southron columns, And make the brigands feel That all the booty they will get, Will be our Southron steel. Huzza! huzza! let's raise (the) our banner high, And nobly drive the Yankees out, Or with them fall and die. Rush on the columns--let every Southron brave Nobly charge the accursed foe, Or find a soldier's grave. With bowie and with pike, We'll rally to the field, And bravely to the last we'll strike, Resolved we'll never yield. Huzza! huzza! etc. We are fighting for our mothers, our sisters, and our wives; For these, and our country's rights, We'll sacrifice our lives. Then, trusting still to Heaven, We'll charge the invading host, Till liberty and independence Shall be the nation's boast. Huzza! huzza! etc. Then on with our columns--slay the vandal foe-- Beat them from our sunny soil, And lay their colors low. To the great God of nations Our sacred cause confide, For we are fighting for our liberty, And He is on our side. Huzza! huzza! etc. A NEW RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. WRITTEN FOR A LADY, BY JEFF. THOMPSON. Missouri is the pride of the nation, The hope of the brave and the free; The Confederacy will furnish the rations, But the fighting is trusted to thee; For, brave boys, your soil has been noted, And your flag has been trusted to you; For freedom you have not yet voted, But you fight for the Red, White, and Blue. _Chorus_--Three cheers, etc. The Stars shall shine bright in the heaven, But the Stripes should be trailed in the dust, For they are no longer the sign of the haven Of the brave, of the free, or the just; The Bars now in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the faithful and true; O'er the home of the Southern brave Shall float the new Red, White, and Blue. _Chorus_--Three cheers, etc. O JOHNNY BULL, MY JO JOHN. AIR--"_John Anderson, my Jo_." It was stated in the Richmond "Dispatch" during the last days of December, 1861, that a gentleman, just from the West Indies, had said that there were eighty-seven British ships-of-war lying in those waters. This statement gave rise to the following imitation of an old song: O Johnny Bull, my Jo John! I wonder what you mean, By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen; You'll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so? Best catch and sink, or burn them all, O Johnny Bull, my Jo! O Johnny Bull, my Jo John! when Yankee hands profane, Were laid in wanton insult upon the lion's mane, He roared so loud and long, John, they quickly let him go, And sank upon their trembling knees, O Johnny Bull, my Jo!