A SOUTHERN GATHERING SONG. By L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. _Air--"Hail Columbia."_ Sons of the South, beware the foe! Hark to the murmur, deep and low, Rolling up like the coming storm, Swelling up like the sounding storm, Hoarse as the hurricanes that brood In space's far infinitude! Minute guns of omen boom Through the future's folded gloom; Sounds prophetic fill the air, Heed the warning--and prepare! Watch! be wary--every hour Mark the foeman's gathering power-- Keep watch and ward upon his track And crush the rash invaders back! Sons of the brave!--a barrier staunch Breasting the alien avalanche-- Manning the battlements of RIGHT; Up, for your _Country_, "_God and right_!" Form your battalions steadily, And strike for death or victory! Surging onward sweeps the wave, Serried columns of the brave, Banded 'neath the benison of Freedom's godlike Washington! Stand! but should the invading foe Aspire to lay your altars low, Charge on the tyrant ere he gain Your iron-arteried domain! Sons of the brave! when tumult trod The tide of revolution--God Looked from His throne on "the things of time," And two new stars in the reign of time, He bade to burn in the azure dome-- The freeman's LOVE and the freeman's HOME! Holy of Holies! guard them well, Baffle the despot's secret spell, And let the chords of life be riven, Ere you yield those gifts of heaven! _Io paean!_ trumpet notes, Shake the air where our banner floats; _Io triumphe!_ still we see _The land of the South is the home of the free!_ CONFEDERATE LAND. By H. H. STRAWBRIDGE. States of the South! Confederate Land! Our foe has come--the hour is nigh; His bale-fires rise on every hand-- Rise as one man, to do or die! From mountain, vale, and prairie wide, From forest vast, and field, and glen, And crowded city, pour thy tide, Oh fervid South! Oh patriot men! CHORUS--Up! old and young; the weak, be strong! Rise for the right,--hurl back the wrong, And foot to foot, and hand to hand, Strike for our own Confederate Land! Make every house, and rock, and tree, And hill, your forts; and fen and flood Yield not! our soil shall rather be One waste of flame, one sea of blood! On! though perennial be the strife, For honor dear, for hearthstone fires; Give blow for blow! take life for life! "Strike! 'till the last armed foe expires!" CHORUS. WE'LL BE FREE IN MARYLAND. By R. E. HOLTZ. _Air--"Gideon's Band."_ The boys down South in Dixie's land, The boys down South in Dixie's land, The boys down South in Dixie's land Will come and rescue Maryland.