CHORUS.--Sons of the South, arise! arise! For never shall fall upon her-- The land we love all the earth above, One stain of dark dishonor. Hurrah for the South, the gallant South, with her great heart proudly beating; She takes her stand at Freedom's hand, and dreams not of retreating; Oh! Southern boys, for fireside joys, with their hearts so brave and tender, Will relentlessly fight, and to death's dark night alone will they surrender. CHORUS. No Northern band shall rule this land--to the breeze give Freedom's banner, As its glowing folds o'er our land unroll, from mountain and savannah; O'er river and lake the sound shall break, and swell with thundering glory; Hurrah for the South! the noble South! the land of war and story! CHORUS. LAND OF THE SOUTH. By A. F. LEONARD. _Air--"Friend of My Soul."_ Land of the South! the fairest land Beneath Columbia's sky! Proudly her hills of freedom stand, Her plains in beauty lie. Her dotted fields, her traversed streams Their annual wealth renew; Land of the South! in brightest dreams No dearer spot we view. * * * * * Flag of the South! aye, fling its folds Upon the kindred breeze; Emblem of dread to tyrant holds-- Of freedom on the seas, Forever may its stars and stripes In cloudless glory wave; Red, white, and blue--eternal types Of nations free and brave! States of the South! the patriot's boast! Here equal laws have sway; Nor tyrant lord, nor despot host, Upon the weak may prey. Then let them rule from sea to sea, And crown the queenly isle-- Union of love and liberty, 'Neath heaven's approving smile. LADIES, TO THE HOSPITAL! By "PERSONNE," Correspondent of the _Charleston Courier_. Fold away all your bright-tinted dresses, Turn the key on your jewels to-day, And the wreath of your tendril-like tresses, Braid back in a serious way: No more delicate gloves, no more laces; No more trifling in boudoir or bower; But come with your souls in your faces, To meet the stern wants of the hour. Look around! By the torch-light unsteady, The dead and the dying seem one; What? trembling and paling already, Before your mission's begun? These wounds are more precious than ghastly; Time presses her lips to each scar, While she chants of that glory which vastly Transcends all the horrors of war. [Illustration: "... How mellow The light showers down on that brow."]