The Clopton Chronicles
A Project of the Clopton Family Genealogical Society
THE SOUTHERN HOMES IN RUIN
By R. B. Vance, of North Carolina
Many a gray-haired sire has died,
As falls the oak, to rise no more,
Because his son, his prop, his pride,
Breathed out his last all red with gore.
No more on earth, at morn, at eve,
Shall age and youth, entwined as one-
Nor father, son, for either grieve-
Life’s work, alas, for both is done!
Many a mother’s heart has bled
While gazing on her darling child,
As in its tiny eyes she read
The father’s image, kind and mild;
For ne’er again his voice will cheer
The widowed heart, which mourns him dead;
Nor kisses dry the scaling tear,
Fast falling on the orphan’s head!
Many a little form will stray
Adown the glen and o’er the hill,
And watch, with wistful looks, the way
For him whose step is missing still;
And when the twilight steals apace
O’er mead, and brook, and lonely home,
And shadows cloud the dear, sweet face-
The cry will be, “Oh, papa, come!”
Comments? Questions? Corrections?
 War Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy, 1861-1865, A Collection of the Most Popular and Impressive Songs and Poems of War Times, Dear to Every Southern Heart, Collected and Retold with Personal Reminiscences of the War by H. M. Wharton, D.D., p. 138.