A Confederate Note – S.C.D.Y., 1865
Representing nothing on God’s earth now,
And naught in the waters below it;
As a pledge of a nation that’s dead and gone,
Keep it, dear friend, and show it.
Show it to those who will lend an ear
To the tale that this paper can tell,
Of Liberty, born of the patriot’s dream,
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
Too poor to possess the precious ore,
Too much a stranger to borrow,
We issued today our promise to pay,
Hoping to redeem on the morrow.
But days flew by, weeks became years,
Our coffers were empty still,
Coin was so rare our treasury’ d quake
If a dollar should drop in the till.
We knew it had scarcely a value in gold,
Yet as gold our soldiers received it,
It looked in our eyes a promise to pay,
And each patriot soldier believed it.
But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,
And our poverty well we discerned,
And these little checks represented the pay
That our suffering veterans earned.
But our boys thought little of price or pay,
Or of bills that were overdue;
We knew if it brought us our bread today,
It was the best our country could do.
Keep it; it tells all our history over,
From the birth of the dream to its last,
Modest, and born of the angel Hope,
Like our hope of success-it passed.
Last Updated on March 2, 2021 by Bill Arp
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