"In Southern Fields" In Southern fields the Magnolias blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Once clad in gray We lived, felt dawn, begged freedom stay, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Southern fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The Cross of St. Andrews to hold high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though Magnolias grow In Southern fields. Based on the poem "In Flander's Fields" by John McCrae