I was born where sea foam rolls,
Sprang up in wiregrass;
Buried my roots in soft hot sand,
Grew a salty soul.
My arms and legs grew there strong,
No yielding to harsh winds,
Battered by mighty hurricanes,
I did not complain.
I grew and swayed, leaves not lost,
Though parasite now grows,
Long upon shadowed Northern limbs,
I’m resolved to stand.
Planted deep four centuries now,
Feeling my roots again,
Coming to life in hot sand,
As in my seedling youth.
As weaker trees died or failed,
Southern sun broke through,
Moss that once grew so ill,
Retreats like lesser men.
So my salty soul has grown,
Oh! never ever bitter,
Encouraged in its Southern soil,
Though Northern Winter lingered.
Now again, I hear familiar voices,
Feel a child’s play,
I’ve waited long, for my planters,
Their children to remember.
Reawaken under this Southern Oak,
Soil beneath my leaves;
Here you are, just as expected,
Restored from ancient days.
-By Father Dabney
O I’m a good old rebel, now that’s just what I am. For this “fair land of freedom” I do not care at all. I’m glad I fit against it, I only wish we’d won, And I don’t want no pardon for anything I done.
