O I'se gwine back to de land ob cotton, Sea Island seed and sandy bottom, Far away, etc., To de bressed land whar I was born, De land of sugar, cotton and corn, Far away, etc. CHORUS. THE SOLDIER'S MISSION. By A. W. MORSE. Haste thee, falter not, noble patriot band, Bravely meet thy lot, firm maintain thy stand, God, the God of War, who defends the just, Give thine arm the power to defend thy trust. Thy country called thine aid, prompt thine answer came: "We'll draw our battle blade, and shield our country's name, 'Till our firm demand shall have been proclaimed, Justice through the land--equal rights maintained." Welcome, welcome, then, to thy happy home, Warm hearts wait thee, when thou mayst thus return But shouldst thou fall in defense of right With grateful hearts we'll all cherish thy memory bright. [Illustration: Infantry Button.] SOLDIER, I STAY TO PRAY FOR THEE.[7] Words by J. S. THOVINGTON. Music by J. W. GROSCHEL. _Vocal Duett._ SOLDIER. Lady, I go to fight for thee, Where gory banners wave, To fight for thee, and, oh, perchance To find a soldier's grave. LADY. Soldier, I stay to pray for thee, A harder task is mine; To which, and long in lonely grief, That victory may be thine. SOLDIER. Lady, I go and fight for thee. LADY. Soldier, I stay and pray for thee. BOTH. And strength and faith combined, Still form the magic sword, Wherewith the Southrons victory find, The Southrons victory find. [Illustration: "Lady, I go to fight for thee!"] SOLDIER. Fare thee well! LADY. Fare thee well! THE SOUTH OUR COUNTRY. Words by E. M. THOMPSON. Music by J. A. BUTTERFIELD. Our country, our country, oh, where may we find, Amid all the proud relics of legend or story, A holier charm for the patriot mind Than that soul-stirring topic--our native land's glory. That land on whose standard the eagle's proud pinions Flutter lordly defiance to tyranny's minions, And whose soil all untarnished by sceptre or throne, Is a home for the brave, and the free heart alone. And we care not to honor the bleak shores of Maine, With her ship-peopled strand in proud grandeur careering, Nor the West, with her wide prairies waving in grain, The gainers of plenty by name so endearing. But the South is our home the land of bright flowers, Where the softest of suns, and the gentlest of showers Distill a sweet balm from the blossoming earth, And make life a bright vision of pleasure and mirth.