We Come! We Come!

We come! we come for Death or Life, For the Grave or Victory! We come to the broad Red Sea of strife, Where the black flag waveth free! We come as Men, to do or die, Nor feel that the lot is hard, When our Hero calls—and our battle-cry Is "On, to Beauregard!"

Up, craven, up! 'tis no time for ease, When the crimson war-tide rolls To our very doors—up, up, for these Are times to try men's souls! The purple gore calls from the sod Of our martyred brothers' graves, And raises a red right hand to God To guard our avenging braves.

And unto the last bright drop that thrills The depths of the Southern heart, We must battle for our sunny hills, For the freedom of our Mart— For all that Honor claims, or Right— For Country, Love, and Home! Shout to the trampling steeds of Might Our cry—"We come! we come!"

And let our path through their serried ranks Be the fierce tornado's track, That bursts from the torrid's fervid banks And scatters destruction black! For the hot life leaping in the veins Of our young Confederacy, Must break for aye the galling chains Of dark-browed Treachery.

On! on! 'tis our gallant chieftain calls (He must not call in vain), For aid to guard his homestead walls— Our Hero of the Plain! We come! we come, to do or die, Nor feel that the lot is hard: "God and our Rights!" be our battle cry, And, "On, to Beauregard!"