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Legend Of The Rebel Soldier -Charlie Moore


In a dreary Yankee prison

Where a rebel soldier lay

By his side there stood a preacher

Ere his soul should pass away

And he faintly whispered: Parson

As he clutched him by the hand

Oh, parson, tell me quickly

Will my soul pass through the Southland?


Will my soul pass through the Southland

Through the old Virginia grants

Will I see the hills of Georgia

And the green fields of Alabam?

Will I see there little church house

Where I pledged my heart and hand

Oh, parson, tell me quickly

Will my soul pass through the Southland?


Was for loving dear old Dixie

In this dreary cell I lie

Was for loving dear old Dixie

In this northern state I die

Will you see my little daughter

Will you make her understand

Oh, parson, tell me quickly

Will my soul pass through the Southland?


Then the rebel soldier died


 







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