  You boys are getting kind o’ gray, You old Confeds; You surely ain’t got long to stay, You old Confeds; Old Father Time is after you; He’s worse than were the boys in blue; He’ll get you all ’fore he gets through— You old Confeds. With old “Pap” Price and brave Stonewall, You old Confeds; With Robert Lee (you fought with all), You old ex-Rebs— Half starved, you faced the boys in blue, When clothed in rags and tatters, too, And braver soldiers no one knew Than you Confeds. No North, no South, to you they say, To you ex-Rebs— No more you see the boys in gray, No old Confeds. Sweet peace is here, you gladly tell; You’re satisfied that all is well; But when you think of those who fell, And hear once more the musket’s hell, You’d like to give one Rebel yell— You old Confeds. And don’t forget the boys in gray, The brave Confeds, Who can’t be here with you today— The dead Confeds. Amidst the screaming shot and shell, Amidst the thunderbolts of hell, They bravely fought and, fighting, fell— The soldiers dead. A silent toast to them now drink, To each Confed; To comrades dead let glasses clink, To your brave dead. You drink to soldiers that you knew, To your dear comrades brave and true, Who sleep beneath the Southern dew Their restful sleep. You love your country and its flag, You old Confeds; In its defense you’d never lag, You old Confeds; But long as heart beats in each breast You’ll think of those who sweetly rest ’Neath flowers by south wind soft caressed In Southern lands. And when old Gabriel blows his horn, You old Confeds Will fall in line on that great morn— You old Confeds. The Master then will say to you: “Just take your seats in that front pew; There’s nothing here too good for you— You old Confeds.” —From the Confederate Veteran. |
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