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 Old Virginia grand?
Will I see the hills of Georgia, and the green fields of Alabam?
Will I see the little churchhouse, 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.
This is a traditional Confederate song, adapted by an Irish Confederate solider held captive, perhaps at one of the Yankee Slaughter Houses that made Andersonville look like a summer resort.
Please note there isn’t one line about slavery.
The army didn’t fight for hate. They fought for love. And that their banner is shamed, is shame indeed.
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