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[written for the Dispatch.]

by Lyda Litton.

Virginia hath risen from the dust,
Proud she lifts her late bowed head,
She hath now redeemed her trust,
She will be to glory led.

Hark, her sons have heard the cry,
List they to their country's call,
Ready they "to do or die,"
With the South to stand or fall.

Long they've loathed the despots away,
Long have sought to break the yoke;
Longed to see the glorious day,
Which on them at length hath broke.

Onward, freemen, for the right,
Onward is the South's own cause,
Be ye foremost in the fight,
For our liberties and laws.

Think ye of the days of yore,
Think ye of the mighty dead,
Think ye of the tyrant's power,
Then go forth to victory led.

Think of Vernon's sacred shade,
Think of Yorktown's glory won,
Think what Henry's lips hath said,
Then to meet the foe go on.

Think ye of our glorious Mother,
Think ye of her honor bright,
Think not of the foe as brother,
Lest ye falter in the fight.

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