‘I Love Old Dixie’

By Paul Yarbrough

I love that old refrain. Of place

That wreathes with eternal song;

That suckles those whose love is

Of the South.

Oh, Dixie land             

 

Where the deep-rooted ages

Are swept to memory in such view.

“Away, away” its chorus cries

And cries its name,

Oh, Dixie land

 

Where God placed pastoral grips

Of His children enriched in spirit;

Heeding masculine pleas with code,

And all same, toil for His will.

Oh, Dixie Land    

 

Existing from the flow of water

That clears and browns from

The reaches of the mountains,

Unto its deltas spread.

Oh, Dixie land

 

It brings rich dreams to us.

Those men of soil and life for

Their ladies strong of heart and mind;       

Whose feminine manners reach out,

Oh, Dixie land

 

Those Yankee hymns; craven shameless

Lyrics cry for blood to flood the land;

And bury the blissful times

Of those whose home was sacred.

Oh, Dixie land

 

Its knights brave and dashing;

All did climb those bloody walls, 

And waged and sang the final song,  

To eternity; yes,

Oh, Dixie land

 

It is a love, a love and love,

That takes my mind to heights

Before unknown but to God;

And stirs my thoughts.

Oh, Dixie land

 

It lets me sleep with fertile dreams

Of the people and their world;

Such a place claims Injun Batter,

And Buckwheat cakes, too.

Oh, Dixie land

 

It can cry, while its tears softly run.

From folk: set to work, raised by prayer;

And strong of mind and spine, and

Always their souls to be lifted up.

Oh, Dixie Land

 

Of haranguing Yankees’ jealousies

My love will not be slaked;

That love but grows protecting it,   

While we stood; now stand, against such evil bent.

Oh, Dixie land

 

Oh Lord I love the life down wherein

It breathes from unlike chests.

But all and all molded as Southern,

And never, never will we annul.

Oh, Dixie land

 

It flies its flag within its heart.

And hears that Rebel cry’s brave shout,

In spite of those who hate

This valiant land of love and hope.

Oh, Dixie land

 

I love old Dixie. My home.

That holds a well of dreams; wherefore

All mystic visions are special,

And are in God’s eyes, ascended splendor.

Oh, Dixie land.

--Paul H. Yarbrough was born and reared in Jackson, Mississippi. Attended Miss. State, served in the USMC and finished college at University of Louisiana (Lafayette) in Mathematics. He moved to Houston, Texas in the oil industry and has lived there since 1973. He is a widower and has a son and daughter-in-law who live in North Louisiana. He began writing fiction as a hobby several years ago. He had 4 published novels (all on Amazon) and a handful of short stories and poems out there.

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Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!

Anathema to the Union!