Sumpter Rifles

Oh, not now for songs of a nation's wrongs,
 Not the groans of starving labor;
 Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing
 To the clash of the flashing sabre!
 There are Irish ranks on the tented banks
 Of Columbia's guarded ocean;
 And an iron clank from flank to flank
 Tells of armed men in motion.
 And frank souls there clear true and bare
 To all, as the steel beside them,
 Can love or hate withe the strength of Fate,
 Till the grave of the valiant hide them.
 Each seems to be mailed Ard Righ,
 Whose sword's avenging glory
 Must light the fight and smite for Right,
 Like Brian's in olden story!
 With pale affright and panic flight
 Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow,
 Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place,
 Charge to the shout of "Faugh-a-ballaugh!"
 By the sould above, by the land we love
 Her tears bleeding patience
 The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught
 The brazen liar of nations.
 Oh, not now for songs of a nation's wrongs,
 Not the groans of starving labor;
 Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing
 To the clash of the flashing sabre!
 There are Irish ranks on the tented banks
 Of Columbia's guarded ocean;
 And an iron clank from flank to flank
 Tells of armed men in motion.
 With pale affright and panic flight
 Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow,
 Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place,
 Charge to the shout of "Faugh-a-ballaugh!"
 By the sould above, by the land we love
 Her tears bleeding patience
 The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught
 The brazen liar of nations.
 The knaves that rest on Columbia's breast,
 And the voice of true men stifle;
 We'll exorcise from the rescued prize-
 Our talisman, the rifle;
 For a tyrant's life a bowie knife!-
 Of Union knot dissolvers,
 The best we ken are stalwart men,
 Columbiads and revolvers!
 Whoe'er shall march by triumphal arch
 Whoe'er may swell the slaughter,
 Our drums shall roll from the Capitol
 O'er Potomac's fateful water!
 Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of Hosts
 For judgment final and solemn;
 Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword
 Is doomed line, square, and column!