The South

by Abram Joseph Ryan

The South.


Yes, give me the land
Where the ruins are spread,
And the living tread light
On the heart of the dead;
Yes, give me the land
That is blest by the dust,
And bright with the deeds
Of the down trodden just.
Yes, give me the land
Where the battle's red blast
Has flashed on the future
The form of the past;
Yes, give me the land
That has legends and lays
That tell of the memories
Of long-vanished days.
Yes, give me the land
That hath story and song
To tell of the strife
Of the right with the wrong;
Yes, give me the land
With a grave in each spot
And the names in the graves
That shall not be forgot.
Yes, give me the land
Of the wreck and the tomb;
There's grandeur in graves—
There's glory in gloom.
For out of the gloom
Future brightness is born
As after the night
Looms the sunrise of morn.
And the graves of the dead,
With the grass over grown,
May yet form the footstool
Of Liberty's throne;
And each simple wreck,
In the waypath of might,
Shall yet be a rock
In the temple of Right.