Confederate War Poetry

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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.

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