"Not Doubtful of Your Fatherland."

I.

Not doubtful of your fatherland, Or of the God who gave it; On, Southrons! 'gainst the hireling band That struggle to enslave it; Ring boldly out Your battle-shout, Charge fiercely 'gainst these felon hordes: One hour of strife Is freedom's life, And glory hangs upon your swords!

II.

A thousand mothers' matron eyes, Wives, sisters, daughters weeping, Watch, where your virgin banner flies, To battle fiercely sweeping: Though science fails, The steel prevails, When hands that wield, own hearts of oak: These, though the wall Of stone may fall, Grow stronger with each hostile stroke.

III.

The faith that feels its cause as true, The virtue to maintain it; The soul to brave, the will to do,-- These seek the fight, and gain it! The precious prize Before your eyes, The all that life conceives of charm, Home, freedom, life, Child, sister, wife, All rest upon your soul and arm!

IV.

And what the foe, the felon race, That seek your subjugation? The scum of Europe, her disgrace. The lepers of the nation. And what the spoil That tempts their toil, The bait that goads them on to fight? Lust, crime, and blood, Each fiendish mood That prompts and follows appetite.

V.

Shall such prevail, and shall you fail, Asserting cause so holy? With souls of might, go, seek the fight, And crush these wretches lowly. On, with the cry, To do or die, As did, in darker days, your sires, Nor stay the blow, Till every foe, Down stricken, in your path, expires!

Charleston Mercury.