Our battlefields are around us ; the graves of our dead comrades remind us of the sacrifices the Southern soldiers made for their convictions. The evening song of our declining years may find passionate longing in the plaintive strain of our Southern bard: Yes, give me the land where the ruins are spread, And the living tread light on the hearts of the dead ; Yes, give me the land that is blest by the dust And bright with the deeds of the downtrodden just; Yes, give me the land where the battles red blast Has flashed to the future the fame of the past ; Yes, give me the land that has legends and lays That tell of the memory of long vanished days ; Yes, give me the land that has story and song Enshrining the strife of the right with the wrong ; Yes, give me the land with a grave in each spot And names in those graves that shall neer be forgot ; Yes, give me the land of the wreck and the tomb, There is a grandeur in graves ; there is glory in the gloom ; For out of the gloom future brightness is born As after night comes the sunshine of morn, And the graves of the dead with the grass overgrown May yet form the footstool of Libertys throne, And each single wreck in the warpath of might Shall yet be a rock in the Temple of Right.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Apr 2014 23:24:06 +0000
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