The Glorious Southern Victories!

When the great Judge, Supreme and Just,Shall once inquire for blood;The humble souls, who mourns in dust,Shall find a faithful God.

He from the dreadful gates of death,Does his own Children raise;In “Southern States,” where with cheerful breath,They sing their Father’s praise.

Our foes shall fall with heedless feet,Into the Pit, they made;Fanatics perish in the net,Which their own hands had spread.

Thus by Thy judgments, mighty God,Are Thy deep Counsels known:When men of mischief are destroy’d,The Snare must be their own.

The wicked shall sink down to hell;Thy wrath devour the lands,That dare forget Thee, or rebel,Against Thy known commands.

Though the righteous to sore distress are brought,And wait, and long complain,Their cries shall never be forgot,Nor shall their hopes be vain.

Rise, great Redeemer, from Thy seat,To judge and save the poor;Let the North tremble at Thy feet,And Man prevail no more.

Thy Thunder shall affright the Tyrants,And put their hearts to pain,Made them confess that Thou art God,And They but fanatical wicked men.