'Tis said that "rebel" chieftain, Ere they sought the battle's fray, Would ask our Heavenly Father To be their shield and stay; And then they'd march with confidence, Well knowing He'd be there; And that must be the reason why They never did despair. Likewise, if you will ask Him, He'll meet you on the field, To be a guard about you, And your support and shield; The foe shall fly before you, As you shout your victory there; Then don't forget to plead with Him, And never to despair. PINE BLUFF, ARK. ADDRESS OF THE WOMEN TO THE SOUTHERN TROOPS. BY MRS. J. T. H. CROSS. AIR--"_Bruce's Address_." Southern men, unsheathe the sword, Inland and along the board; Backward drive the Northern horde-- Rush to Victory! Let your banners kiss the sky, Be "The Right" your battle cry! Be the God of Battles nigh-- Crown you in the fight! Pressing back the tears that start, We behold your hosts depart, Saying, with heroic heart, Clothe your arms with might! 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 foemen'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 Southron-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!" THE CAVALIERS OF DIXIE. BY BENJAMIN F. PORTER. Ye Cavaliers of Dixie! Who guard the Southern shores, Whose standards brave the battle storm Which o'er our border roars; Your glorious sabers draw once more, And charge the Northern foe; And reap their columns deep, Where the raging tempests blow, And the iron hail in floods descends, And the bloody torrents flow. Ye Cavaliers of Dixie! Though dark the tempest lower, What arms will wear the tyrants chains, What dastard heart will cower? Bright o'er the night a sign shall rise To lead to victory! And your swords reap their hordes, Where the battle tempests blow; Where the iron hail in floods descends, And the bloody torrents flow. The South! she needs no ramparts, No lofty towers to shield; Your bosoms are her bulwarks strong, Breastworks that never yield! The thunders of your battle blades Shall sweep the servile foe; While their gore stains the shore, Where the battle tempests blow; Where the iron hail in floods descends And the bloody torrents flow.