Old trees, old trees！ in your mystic gloom There's many a warrior laid, And many a nameless and lonely tomb Is sheltered beneath your shade. Old trees, old trees！ without pomp or prayer We buried the brave and the true, We fired a volley and left them there To rest, old trees, with you.

    Old trees, old trees！ keep watch and ward Over each grass-grown bed； 'Tis a glory, old trees, to stand as guard Over the Southern dead； Old trees, old trees！ we shall pass away Like the leaves you yearly shed, But ye, lone sentinels, still must stay, Old trees, to guard "our dead".