Come, with the rifle so long in your keeping,
Clean the old gun up and hurry it forth;
Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking,
Than live with arms folded, the slave of the North.

Hear ye the yelp of the North-wolf resounding,
Scenting the blood of the warm-hearted South;
Quick! or his villainous feet will be bounding
Where the gore of our maidens may drip from his mouth.

Oft in the wildwood "Old Bess" has relieved you,
When the fierce bear was cut down in his track--
If at that moment she never deceived you,
Trust her to-day with this ravenous pack.

Then come with the rifle so long in your keeping,
Clean the old girl up and hurry her forth;
Better to die while "Old Betsy" is speaking,
Than live with arms folded, the slave of the North.

Awake--Arise!