The Confederate Note
by Major S. A. Jonas
Representing nothing on God's earth now,
And naught in the waters below it;
As a pledge of a nation that's dead and gone,
Keep it, dear friend, and show it.
Show it to those who will lend an ear
To the tale that 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 ores,
And too much of a stranger to borrow,
We issued to-day our promise to pay,
Hoping to redeem on the morrow.
But days flew by, weeks became years,
Our coffers were empty still;
Coin was so scarce our treasury'd quake
If a dollar would drop in the till.
We knew it had scarcely a value in gold,
Yet as gold the soldiers received it
It looked in our eyes a promise to pay,
And each patriot believed it.
But the faith that was in us was strong indeed,
And our poverty well we discerned
And then little checks represented the pay
That our suffering veterans earned.
But our boys thought little of prize or pay,
Or of bills that were over due
We knew if it bought us our bread to-day
'Twas the best our poor country could do.
Keep it, it tells 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.
