Ho! Smith, Magruder, Taylor, Price and Walker in your spheres, Warm with your zeal the hearts of ice, and charm the coward's fears! For by the tree of Liberty God planted on this shore, This fight should be a victory or ye should breathe no more. Now, Davis! on the mount of State, discern the Lord's command, While faith and courage on thee wait, and lift each cheering hand, To beckon all, from farm and street, and make the laggard feel A wish to meet the first that greets the carnival of steel! Let Honor beat the rataplan and Duty quick obey-- Make "yea" an instant Tagerman, and "no" at once a Ney! Upon the blood our best have spilled, pledge me with common breaths War to the hilt with Yankee guilty, for "Liberty or Death!" [Illustration: Louisiana.] OUR GLORIOUS FLAG. A VICKSBURG SONG. _Air--"Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still."_ There is freedom on each fold, and each star is freedom's throne, And the free, the brave, the bold, guard thine honor as their own; Ev'ry danger hast thou known that the battle's storm can fill, Thy glory hath not flown--we proudly wave thee still. Ev'ry danger, etc. Floating in the morning light, Freedom's sun! thou shinest far, Floating thro' the murky night, all shall see thee, Freedom's star! For _sic semper_ thy refrain, and thy motto e'er shall be, Let tyrants wear the chain--I am--I will be free! O'er the land or the sea where the hurling waves are torn, In the calm, the storm, the breeze, be thy standard proudly borne; For there's freedom on each fold, and each star's freedom's throne-- The free, the brave, the bold, thy glory is their own. THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION. By MISS MARIA E. JONES. Hark! the clock strikes! All, all that now remains, Is one short hour of this fast fleeting life, And then farewell the terrors and the strife, The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long years, It's holy rapture, the corroding pains-- That fill the heart with rapture or with tears. Farewell, old world! I never knew 'till now How well I lov'd thee; and my wayward heart Still fondly clings to thee--but we must part! Let not my proud heart in that parting fail! How can I weep to leave thee? I whose brow Hath oft been bared to battle's iron hail! My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek; God! what womanly weakness do they speak And would half say, that the brave Southern spy Who had scorned death and mock'd his idle fears, Had, at last, forgotten how to die. O beauteous earth! each well remember'd place-- All that I lov'd comes up before my mind-- The lov'd and cherished I must leave behind-- Stand out before me! every verdant spot In my life's desert I can clearly trace, E'en to those pictures I had deemed forgot.