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.