I hope that as I leave this world of care
My last breath will be of magnolia scented, Dixie air.
But should I meet my end behind the cold, Northern lines,
Wrap me safely in that flag Ďtil Iím again beneath Georgia pines.
As I wing my flight to worlds on high,
I want those who come to bid me good-bye
To see that glorious banner upon my bier
And know a loyal, Southron doth lie here.
Let a black man, whom I have loved in Christís stead
Place that sweet, sweet shroud upon my head
That all present will see there is no hate
Represented by that cherished symbol of the Confederate state.
As you lay me gently in that cold, dark grave
Play Dixie, not Taps, and let a Bonnie Blue wave.
Then bow your head as the Parson prays
And vow to serve Jesus the rest of your days.
This good, old boy will no longer be among your ranks,
But Iíll be looking for you to cross Jordanís stormy banks.
Marse Robert, Stonewall and I will let out a rebel yell of glee
As we escort you to the throne where our Savior Jesus will be.
© copyright 1996 Ron Shultz
All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission