Save the Souls of the Lords of Gray– in Eleven Stanzas

Oh! Save the souls of the Lords of Gray.
Donned their swords and scabbards.
Rode into cause valiant to pray.
Ever still they cease from marching forth;
Holding their cause against a vile North.

Men in gray suits though equal in stripe,
Bare their hearts and sinew.
Defend the world against the snipe,
They bleed into soul far from Lord’s home;
Their courage, their nerve, written in tome.

Onward Lee, Old Jack and Pierre too,
Prize these brave men in life.
God will you our princes, save you.
Without shoes without pay, rifles their own,
Their mettle not vexed, their spines of stone.

Charge the devils who forward assault,
Drive their mission from hell.
Upon the field from mighty fault,
Our home and cover will forever stand;
Against an army of darkened hand.

The cries from the breech of men all true,
They bridled non-brittle;
Sinners though righteous all anew,
Farther from home than will should deserve,
Spirit for victory stance in verve.

Gray hearts never waned though muscles bent,
Climbing the hill of blood,
The Yell from the gray never spent.
On each side fallen men of the land,
Their grand hopes of cause precious to man.

Fight for the folk, against the jaws,
The Gray Lords steadfast lead;
Forever the heart of their cause,
New England lies thread beyond the plight,
Monster needles o’ foreign to fight.

Gentlemen, soldiers, fellow farmer;
Onto and ever right,
Striking out with heaven’s armor,
Now dash to the field, dash to the wall,
Our brave Gray souls, though Godly men fall,

The flowers grow over the graves down,
Seas of same beyond them,
Gray mists arise above their town.
Carry away to their star above,
Their mothers, fathers, wives lost in love.

Not forever will their cause be lost;
Their march favored home’s hearth.
They bridled they rode no matter cost,
Men of steel grit from a loyal breast,
Their land, their home their eternal rest.

Oh, save the souls of the men this day,
Who strove to fight foul foes.
Save the souls of the men in Gray.
Oh God we now pray with thirsty tongue,
Oh, the Lords of Gray who were so young.

About Paul H. Yarbrough

I was born and reared in Mississippi, lived in both Louisiana and Texas (past 40 years). My wonderful wife of 43 years who recently passed away was from Louisiana. I have spent most of my business career in the oil business. I took up writing as a hobby 7 or 8 years ago and love to write about the South. I have just finished a third novel. I also believe in the South and its true beliefs. More from Paul H. Yarbrough

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