The Confederate Note by S. A. Jonas
|Representing nothing on God’s earth now,|
And naught in the water below it,
As a pledge of a nation that’s dead and gone,
Keep it, dear Captain, and show it.
Show it to those that will lend an ear
To the tale this paper can tell,
Of liberty born, of the patriot’s dream,
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
Too poor to possess the precious ore,
And too much a stranger to borrow,
We issue to-day our “promise to pay,”
And hope to redeem on the morrow.
Days rolled by, and weeks became years,
But our coffers were empty still;
Coin was so rare that the treasurer quakes,
If a dollar should drop in the till.
|But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,|
And our poverty well we discerned,
And these little checks represented the pay
That our suffering veterans earned.
We knew it had hardly a value in gold,
Yet as gold the soldiers received it;
It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,
And each patriot soldier believed it.
But our boys thought little of price or pay,
Or of bills that were over-due;
We knew if it bought our bread to-day,
’Twas the best our country could do.
Keep it! it tells all our history over,
From the birth of the dream to its last;
Modest, and born of the angel Hope,
Like our hope of success it passed.