Hold up the glories of thy dead; 
Say how thy elder children bled, 
And point to Eutaw's battle-bed. 
Carolina! Carolina! 

Throw thy bold banner to the breeze! 
Front with thy ranks the threatening seas 
Like thine own proud armorial trees,
Carolina! Carolina! 

Thy skirts indeed the foe may part,
Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart, 
They shall not touch thy noble heart, 
Carolina! Carolina! 

Girt with such wills to do and bear,
Assured in right, and mailed in prayer, 
Thou wilt not bow thee to despair,
Carolina! Carolina!