What are the war-waves saying,
As they compass us around?
The dark, ensanguined billows,
With their deep and dirge-like sound?
Do they murmur of submission;
Do they call on us to bow
Our necks to the foe triumphant
Who is riding o'er us now?

Never! No sound submissive
Comes from those waves sublime,
Or the low, mysterious voices
Attuned to their solemn chime!
For the hearts of our noble martyrs
Are the springs of its rich supply;
And those deeply mystic murmurs
Echo their dying cry!

They bid us uplift our banner
Once more in the name of God;
And press to the goal of Freedom
By the paths our Fathers trod:
They passed o'er their dying brothers;
From their pale lips caught the sigh--
The flame of their hearts heroic,
From the flash of each closing eye!

Up! Up! for the time is pressing,
The red waves close around;--
They will lift us on their billows
If our hearts are faithful found!
They will lift us high--exultant,
And the craven world shall see
The Ark of a ransomed people
Afloat on the crimson sea!

Afloat, with her glorious banner--
The cross on its field of red,
Its stars, and its white folds waving
In triumph at her head;
Emblem of all that's sacred
Heralding Faith to view;
Type of unblemished honor;
Symbol of all that's true!

Then what can those waves be singing
But an anthem grand, sublime,
As they bear for our martyred heroes
A wail to the coast of Time?
What else as they roll majestic
To the far-off shadowy shore,
To join the Eternal chorus
When Time shall be no more!

Old Moultrie.