Hark! on the wind that whistles from the West
A manly shout for instant succor comes,
From men who fight, outnumbered, breast to breast,
With rage-indented drums!

Who dare for child, wife, country--stream and strand,
Though but a fraction to the swarming foe,
There--at the flooded gateways of the land,
To stem a torrent's flow.

To arms! brave sons of each embattled State,
Whose queenly standard is a Southern star:
Who would be free must ride the lists of Fate
On Freedom's victor-car!

Forsake the field, the shop, the mart, the hum
Of craven traffic for the mustering clan:
The dead themselves are pledged that you shall come
And prove yourself--a man.

That sacred turf where first a thrilling grief
Was felt which taught you Heaven alone disposes--
God! can you live to see a foreign thief
Contaminate its roses?

Blow, summoning trumpets, a compulsive stave
Through all the bounds, from Beersheba to Dan;
Come out! come out! who scorns to be a slave,
Or claims to be a man!

Hark! on the breezes whistling from the West
A manly shout for instant succor comes,
From men who fight, outnumbered, breast to breast.
With rage-indented drums!

Who charge and cheer amid the murderous din,
Where still your battle-flags unbended wave,
Dying for what your fathers died to win
And you must fight to save.

Ho! shrilly fifes that stir the vales from sleep,
Ho! brazen thunders from the mountains hoar;
The very waves are marshalling on the deep,
While tempests tread the shore.

Arise and swear, your palm-engirdled land
Shall burial only yield a bandit foe;
Then spring upon the caitiffs, steel in hand,
And strike the fated blow.

Georgia, My Georgia!