Dixiefest 2025!!!!
Forwarded from Southern History
Forwarded from History Clearinghouse 📜
John Gatewood, Appalachian Confederate Guerrilla
“The long haired, red bearded beast of Georgia”
Echoes of the Thunder God
A healthy culture could have groups dedicated to the veneration of these local warriors (source)
“The long haired, red bearded beast of Georgia”
Echoes of the Thunder God
A healthy culture could have groups dedicated to the veneration of these local warriors (source)
Robert E. Lee at the Battle of Chancellorsville [engraving], 1884. Engraving by Frederic Dubois Tesselin, after the painting by L. M. D. Guillaume. Printed by Goupil, Paris, and published in New York by Michael Knoedler, ca. 1884. Depicts General Robert E. Lee on the battlefield at Chancellorsville, astride his horse Traveller.
The Star-Spangled Cross and the pure field of white
Is the banner we give to the breeze,
'Tis an emblem of Freedom unfurled in the right,
O'er our homes and our lands and our seas.
CHORUS: We'll stand by the Cross
And the pure field of white,
While a shred's left to float on the air:
Our trust is in God, who can help us in fight,
And defend those who ask Him in prayer.
For years we have cringed to the uplifted rod,
For years have demanded our right,
Our voice shouts defiance, our trust is in God,
And the strong arm that gives us our might.
CHORUS
Our hills and our vales with the death shriek may ring,
And our forests may swarm with the foe,
But still to the breeze our proud banner we'll fling,
And to Victory or Death we will go.
CHORUS
Is the banner we give to the breeze,
'Tis an emblem of Freedom unfurled in the right,
O'er our homes and our lands and our seas.
CHORUS: We'll stand by the Cross
And the pure field of white,
While a shred's left to float on the air:
Our trust is in God, who can help us in fight,
And defend those who ask Him in prayer.
For years we have cringed to the uplifted rod,
For years have demanded our right,
Our voice shouts defiance, our trust is in God,
And the strong arm that gives us our might.
CHORUS
Our hills and our vales with the death shriek may ring,
And our forests may swarm with the foe,
But still to the breeze our proud banner we'll fling,
And to Victory or Death we will go.
CHORUS