Michael Gideon, in the woods he hid,
With many of his kith and kin.
From their homes were driven,
By foemen with clubs and bricks –
Inbreakers, young and rude,
Invaders, old and crude –
Because they loved the Confederate gen’ral
Whose statue did watch o’er the town.
Now beset it is by foemen in their fetid camp,
Awaiting its doom and fate.
Michael Gideon, in the dark of night,
He fished in the stream for fear of the mob,
Michael Gideon, his food he ate
As the plight he turned it o’er in his mind.
Tired from thought, on a tree log he sat.
With groaning prayer, Heaven’s help he besought.
Then still he sat, silent before God.
Then light he saw, radiance all around.
A bright angel he beheld.
Bewildered, to his knees he fell.
‘Rise, Michael Gideon, and be not afraid.
‘The Lord has heard the prayers of you all.
‘The Lord knows your afflictions
‘And will now deliver you from them.
‘Take this sword, and gather the men.
‘In their hands place only flags
‘Bearing Saint Andrew’s Cross.
‘You at their head, lead them
‘To the invader’s camp,
‘And say together with mighty voice,
‘ “A sword for the Lord
‘ “And the General!”
‘Shout these words, but touch not
‘An hair of their heads,
‘And you will see your deliverance.’
At this he vanished; night-dark returned.
Michael Gideon, the sword he held.
The blade, clear as crystal,
Gathered the light of the moon and stars
And shone with beauty gentle.
The hilt, smooth and silver,
Calmed and strengthened the one who held it.
Forth he strode, the men he gathered.
Out they went, together they sallied.
Scalawags round the Gen’ral were crowding.
To destroy his memory, for this they were yearning.
. . .
The rest is at https://www.reckonin.com/walt-garlington/the-song-of-michael-gideon .
Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!