Old Trees

Old trees, old trees! in your mystic gloom

There's many a warrior laid,

And many a nameless and lonely tomb

Is sheltered beneath your shade.

Old trees, old trees! without pomp or prayer

We buried the brave and the true,

We fired a volley and left them there

To rest, old trees, with you.

Old trees, old trees! keep watch and ward

Over each grass-grown bed;

‘ Tis a glory, old trees, to stand as guard

Over the Southern dead;

Old trees, old trees! we shall pass away

Like the leaves you yearly shed,

But ye, lone sentinels, still must stay,

Old trees, to guard “our dead”.