Let us stop these
reunions, we now hear the cry;
They've been held long enough, we should now let them
Old age is a fact we cannot gainsay
And the fiat of time we must haste to obey.
Some one over eighty has had a
Had a surfeit of honors-attention sublime;
Is now beset with a grouch or some bodily ill
And couldn't if he would go the gait still.
He seems mad at the boys around
Who, not ready to give up, would keep things alive.
He might can his ire and get out of the way
And let these youngsters have at least a brief sway.
No, we've said it, yes, once for
The word must go forth with no chance of recall.
Very well, as you'd have it, the mandate goes out.
We'll make it as sweeping as you've made it stout.
Go quickly and stop that band over
It's giving us a worn out, sickening air.
The strains of you "Dixie" we've heard till
And it's fouling the air is no longer desired.
(Grand Army of the Republic), they
bother us not,
And they may reun'e till doomsday for all that we wot,
"Marching Through Georgia" they may play at
With a snatch of "John Brown" thrown in for
Go to your schools, tell them
books they might teach
Defending the Southland they must keep out of reach.
The Confed was a traitor, the Yank was a saint
Is the line to be followed as the one without taint.
That tattered battle flag, don't
flaunt it again;
A glimpse of its folds gives us naught else but pain.
It's an emblem of nothing we care to cherish,
So let the cheap sentiment surrounding it perish.
And those Sons, who've been
boasting their sires wore the gray,
Remind them we've had quite enough of their say.
Stop all such racket, your orders disband
That would keep yet alive the things we can't stand.
And those Daughters, too, from
their purpose we'd swerve-
The South's so-called legends through the years to
Those "hallowed memories" have quite lost their
And we know of them now as insignia of harm.
That bright little girl, who finds
such great joy
As a Child of the Confederacy a term to employ,
Go stifle her error ere it taint her young mind
And something worth while for her seek to find.
Shall all this come about while
our folks have a say?
I don't believe it; they don't want it that way.
The idea'll assuage like a punctured balloon
And the remnant in gray not yet cease to reune.
We Confeds to Old Glory are now
loyal and true,
We love, nevertheless, our dear Southland, too.
With apologies none for our part in the play,
We'd see Old Animosity laid soundly away.
David Bailey. Freeman
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