id	author	title	date	pages	extension	mime	words	sentences	flesch	summary	cache	txt
8648	nan	War Poetry of the South			.txt	text/plain	74360	7659	96	Shall it be the right hand to the friend, or the red hand to the foe? The great South shall summon her sons from their sleep; Thy fame shall brighten with each battle fought; Shall bristle like thy palm, with spears, They shall not touch thy noble heart, Love, hate, grief, joy, gain, glory, shame, shall meet, And the great God of battles hath led the glorious fray; For God's right hand and holy arm have great deliverance wrought. Let his memory be green in the hearts who love the South, To its own lofty trust in God. When Heaven shall blow the trump of peace, Yes, these shall teach thy foes to feel Oh, brave old town, o'er thy sacred form The land, the peace of His vast love shall fall Ye brave your myriad foes beneath the eye of God! No battle news disturbs thy rest upon the sun-bright shore,	./cache/8648.txt	./txt/8648.txt