There's not a Southern matron But in her bosom wears The iron Key of Firmness That locketh up her fears; While ye buckle on your armor, She will bid ye safe "God-speed," And bear her cross all bravely For her precious country's need! When our women have such souls, boys, Ye must never flinch or quail-- While the storm of battle rolls, boys, Ne'er strike the straining sail! Our lives are dearly purchased, When bondage is the price; And what is home, where freedom Withers 'neath the tyrant's vice? Better the earthy pillow, Better the gory bier, Where the true-hearted ever Will drop the burning tear; For think, if ye should fall, boys, Ye have not lived in vain-- On the brave soldier's pall, boys, None ever put a stain! Fling out our glorious banner Upon the golden air-- Swear by its stars, Dishonor Shall leave no footprint there! That ye'll plant its broad bars firmly, As a barrier to the foe, From the blue Gulf to the Border, From the Sea to Mexico! The Southern sky's a-flame, boys, Where our stately cities burn, But, as monuments of fame, boys, Their ashes we'll in-urn! Oh! inch by inch, repel him, The foul invading foe! Let the sharp saber tell him How despots are laid low! And history's burning pencil Will, on her golden page, Your hero name enamel An honor to the age! One blow, and we are free, boys, Strike firmly, and 'tis done! On, on, to Tennessee, boys, Oh! follow bravely on! THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE. BY FATHER A. J. RYAN. Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright, Flashed the sword of Lee! Far in the front of the deadly fight, High o'er the brave in the cause of Right, Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light, Led us to victory. Out of its scabbard, where, full long, It slumbered peacefully, Roused from its rest by the battle's song, Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong, Guarding the right, avenging the wrong, Gleamed the sword of Lee. Forth from its scabbard, high in air, Beneath Virginia's sky-- And they who saw it gleaming there, And knew who bore it, knelt to swear That where that sword led they would dare To follow--and to die! Out of its scabbard! Never hand Waved sword from stain as free, Nor purer sword led braver band, Nor braver bled for a brighter land, Nor brighter land had a cause so grand, Nor cause a chief like Lee! Forth from its scabbard! How we prayed That sword might victor be; And when our triumph was delayed, And many a heart grew sore afraid, We still hoped on while gleamed the blade Of noble Robert Lee.