In a dreary Yankee prison
Where a rebel soldier lay,
by his side there stood a preacher,
Ere his soul should pass away.
And he faintly whispered, Parson,
as he clutched him by the hand
Oh, Parson, tell me quickly,
will my soul pass through
Will my soul pass through the South Link
To my old Virginia green?
Will I see the hills of Georgia
and the green fields of Alabama?
Will I see that little church house
where I pledge my heart and hand?
Oh, Parson, tell me quickly
Will my soul pass through
Was for lovin', dear old Dixie,
In this dreary cell I lie.
Was for lovin' dear old Dixie
In this northern state I've died
Will you see my little daughter
Will you make her understand
Oh, Parson, tell me quickly
Will my soul pass through
With his soul pure as a lily
In that dreary Yankee prison,
the brave rebel soldier died.
Then the parson looked up to heaven
and in blessing raised his hand.
Father, grant this soldier's wishes
May his soul pass through