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[70]
     Thick as leaves of the forest in summer,
Her brave sons will rise on each plain; And then strike, until each vandal comer
     Lies dead on the soil he would stain.
chorus--Three cheers for our army, &c.

May the names of the dead that we cherish,
     Fill memory's cup to the brim;
May the laurels they've won never perish,
     Nor “star of their glory grow dim ;” May the States of the South never sever,
But champions of freedom e'er be;
     May they flourish, Confed'rate forever,
The boast of the brave and the free.
     chorus--Three cheers for our army, &c.

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