Salute! Yesterday at Point Lookout Confederate Cemetery! "Pass Through the Southland" In a Yankee prison, cold and bare, Iron bars and sorrow fill the air. Far from Dixie, where my heart does roam, I dream of fields and my old sweet home. My gray coat’s tattered, my boots worn thin, The hope I carry is growin’ dim. I hear the cannons in my fevered dreams, The Southland’s callin’ through the prison’s seams. The guard’s cold eyes and the north wind’s bite, Steal the warmth of day and the stars at