Old Trees, Old Trees! In Your Mystic Gloom There'S Many A Warrior Laid, And Many A Nameless And Lonely Tomb Is Sheltered Beneath Your Shade. Old Trees, Old Trees! Without Pomp Or Prayer We Buried The Brave And The True, We Fired A Volley And Left Them There To Rest, Old Trees, With You. Old Trees, Old Trees! Keep Watch And Ward Over Each Grass-Grown Bed; 'Tis A Glory, Old Trees, To Stand As Guard Over The Southern Dead; Old Trees, Old Trees! We Shall Pass Away Like The Leaves You Yearly Shed, But Ye, Lone Sentinels, Still Must Stay, Old Trees, To Guard "Our Dead".