Nourished by the Blood
By twos and tens, by hundreds and tbousands tbey fell and their blood soaked into this sacred soil.
By squads and companies, by battalions and regiments they fell in combat and tbeir bodies were laid beneatb tbis sod and their blood mixed with the soil.
In drops and trickles, in pints and by the heartfull tbeir blood was spilled and spread across the read clay dirt of Dixie.
In battles and skirmishes and engagements; in hospitals, homes and tented camps, illness took tbem and their bodies were laid to rest in tbe soil of tbe Southland.
On the fields where they fell, in church yards, by the road sides tbey were interred. In a land scarred and riven by war tbe soil was billowed with tbeir graves until the surface of the land was like the ocean on a windy day-roll after roll after roll.
And tbeir bodies became one with the loamy land of Dixie.
The rains fell and the occasional snow covered tbe land so tbat moistnre penetrated the earth, carrying tbeir blood deep into our fields.
Not just the soldiers, either. Poverty, disease, starvation carried off women, even children. Much of the condition causing their deaths was deliberate ploy induced by a cunning and heartless invader who hated the South and all things Southern, who hated out of envy and superciliously sought for a false moral high ground to justify their immoral actions.
So the blood of innocents was shed, the lives of tbe blameless were taken. Their forms went beneath the sod. And those forms mingled with tbe soil, the soil on which we stand.
Nor were they all Caucasians. From the Atlantic to the Indian Territory of Oklahoma those now called Native Americans enlisted in Confederate ranks. From Texas, from all along the Gulf Coast, came tbose of Hispanic and French Creole ancestry. Free men of color and Africans who were enslaved, took their place in accomplishing the tasks before tbem.
And they all shed tbeir blood, tbey laid down their lives. The leaves crackled and crumbled, turning to humus and enriching the soil, mixing witb their blood.
Those who survived that holocaust tilled the earth, planted and tended seed, and 10, tbe crops grew and matnred and they were nourished by tbe produce ofthe soil, and soil enriched by tbe blood.
Now we stand, in our day, sprung from tbeir loins, though at a remove in time. And we till the soil and eat oftbe fruit of the land, the land, which holds their bodies, the land which is soaked witb tbeir blood.
Intolerant and angry voices are today raised against those people, our people, the people of our past.
In the name of "diversity" exclusion is practiced and practiced against us because of sires and dames.
In the name of "tolerance" intolerance is shown towards the South and all things Southern.
Our children are taught more about the 5th of May than they are about April II th. They should be taught about both battles against imperialist invaders.
They are given the words to folk songs from every part of the world but can attend K -12 and years of college without hearing the soul stirring strains of "Dixie". They should know tbe songs of all peoples, including tbose of their own forebears.
They are taught the holidays and heroes of all the cultures in the nation but are never told January] 9 is tbe birthday of Robert E. Lee. They should know all the heroes of all the groups, including their own!
The voice of John Brown, the Ax murderer form Kansas, the Terrorist of Harpers Ferry, is mild compared to some of the voices which speak out against the South today.
The Politically Correct have come to teach us their ways. They scorn us for being what we are. But they will fail. When Political Correctness is but the unpleasant distant memory of a forgotten fad the blue cross of St. Andrew on a red field will still wave over a proud, brave and free people.
We cannot be worn down, we cannot be overpowered because our fields bring forth food which contains not only nutrients for our bodies but which replenish our spirits and our souls.
We are different, we Soutberners, because we are nourished by the remains of heroes. They have enriched our soil. We are nourished by their blood.
And, strengtbened by that nourishment, we do not forget, we do not tnrn back, we do not surrender.
Those who wish to say to us "nay" may do so.
Those who wish to forget the past will do so. But may God have mercy on their shriveled up little souls. We hold fast to our Confederate heritage for we are nourished by the blood of heroes and martyrs.
That blood is within us. We cannot fail to remember them.
Deo Vindice