The blue cockade.
He's gone to fight the battles of our darling Southern land;
He was true to old Columbia, till more sacred ties forbade--
Till 'twere treason to obey her, when he took his sword in hand.
And God be with the laddie who was true in heart and hand,
To the voice of old Columbia, till she wronged his native land!
He buckled on his knapsack-his musket on his breast--
And donned the plumed bonnet-sword and pistol by his side;
Then his weeping mother kissed him, and his aged father blessed,
And he pinned the floating ribbon to his gallant plume of pride.
And God be with the ribbon, and the floating plume of pride!
They have gone where duty called them, and may glory them betide!
He would not soil his honor, and he would not strike a blow,
For he loved the aged Union, and he breathed no taunting word;
He would dare Columbia, till she swore herself his foe,
Forged the chains for freemen, when he buckled on his sword.
And God be with the freeman when he buckled on his sword!
He lives and dies for duty-and he yields no inch of sward.
The foes they come with thunder, and with blood and fire arrayed,
And they swear that we shall own them, they the masters, we the slaves;
But there's many a gallant laddie who wears a blue cockade,
Will show them what it is to dare the blood of Southern braves
And God be with the banner of those gallant Southern braves,
They may nobly die as freemen — they can never live as slaves!