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[108]
     The land of their love — of our hearts — is our pride,
And we will stand by it and cherish its sod,
     Though we pour to protect it our hearts' crimson tide,
And dying, will beg its protection from God.

Mantle my heart with thy stern garb, War!
     Thrill through my veins with thy clarion tone!
Like a “pillar of cloud,” and a bright blazing star,
     Is the flag of our bold and our new nation thrown,
The kind breeze of heaven will kiss its bright folds,
     And float them out grandly upon the pure air;
It emblems the pride of many brave souls,
     And carries the incense of many a prayer.

--N. O. Picayune.

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