[Illustration: "Lying in the shadow underneath the trees."] I think my song has lasted almost long enough, The subject's interesting, but the rhymes are mighty rough, I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas, We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas! CHORUS. OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. By H. WALTHER. [Permission of Henri Wehrmann.] To arms! Oh! men in all our Southern clime, Do you not scent the battle from afar, And hear the ringing clash of armor chime, Where men have met all panoplied for war? To arms! Let not your country call in vain For willing hearts to shield her from the foe, But let the ardor of a patriot's fame Brightly within each manly bosom glow. CHORUS.--But let the ardor of a patriot's fame Brightly within each manly bosom glow. To arms! in this, your country's hour of need! Behold her beautiful and broad domain, And say, if patriot hearts shall freely bleed To keep it sacred from invasion's stain? To arms! and don the panoply of war, Stay not like cowards from the battle-field; But with your armor on, march where the roar Of cannon tells you that your brothers bleed! CHORUS. The trumpet and the clarion sound to arms, The noisy drum in solemn echo beats, And martial music, robed in all her charms, The magic words, To arms! To arms! repeats. To arms! The mortal combat has begun, Rush on and fight amidst the deadly fray, Nor pause until the work is nobly done, And honor crowns us with her wreath of bay! CANNON SONG. Aha! a song for the trumpet's tongue! For the bugle to sing before us, When our gleaming guns, like clarions, Shall thunder in battle chorus! Where the rifles ring, where the bullets sing, Where the black bombs whistle o'er us, With rolling wheel and rattling peal They'll thunder in battle chorus! CHORUS.--With the cannon's flash, and the cannon's crash, With the cannon's roar and rattle, Let Freedom's sons, with their shouting guns, Go down to their country's battle! Their brassy throats shall learn the notes That make old tyrants quiver; Till the war is done, or each TYRRELL gun Grows cold with our hearts forever! Where the laurel waves o'er our brothers graves, Who have gone to their rest before us Here's a requiem shall sound for them And thunder in battle chorus! CHORUS. By the light that lies in our Southern skies, By the spirits that watch above us; By the gentle hands in our Summer lands, And the gentle hearts that love us! Our father's faith let us keep till death, Their fame in its cloudless splendor-- As men who stand for their mother land, And die--but never surrender! CHORUS. CHIVALROUS C. S. A.