OUR CONFEDERATE MEMORIAL DAY

 Author Unknown

The marching armies of the past
 Along our Southern plains,
 Are sleeping now in quiet rest
 Beneath the Southern rains.

The bugle call is now in vain
 To rouse them from their bed;
 To arms they'll never march again--
 They are sleeping with the dead.

No more will Shiloh's plains be stained
 With blood our heroes shed,
 Nor Chancellorsville resound again
 To our noble warriors' tread.

For them no more shall reveille
 Sound at the break of dawn,
 But may their sleep peaceful be
 Till God's great judgment morn.

We bow our heads in solemn prayer
 For those who wore the gray,
 And clasp again their unseen hands
 On our Memorial Day.

Thanks to:

Zak
Dixie's Living Historians