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Why, then be our's the same, The name that he snatch'd from shame, Making- it first in fame, Foremost in war.
War to the hilt, Their's be the guilt, Who fetter the freeman,
To ransom the slave. Up, then, and undismayed, Sheathe not the battle blade Till the last foe is laid
Low in the grave !
God save the South, God save the South, Dry the dim eyes that now
Follow our path. Still let the light feet rove Safe through the orange grove; Still keep the land we love
Safe from Thy wrath.
God save the South, God save the South, Her altars and firesides, God save the South !
For the great war is nigh, And we will win or die, Chanting our battle cry,
Freedom or death.