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 that 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 Disie, in this norther 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.