PICKING LINT
J. W. Barker

Plying the busy fingers
Over the vestments old,
Not with the weary needle,
Not for some grains of gold;
Thinking of fainting heroes,
Out in the dreary night,
Smitten in Freedom's battle,
First in the gallant fight --

CHORUS:
O, bright are the jewels from love's deep mint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint.

Quicker, the blood is flowing,
Hundreds were slain today,
And every warm pulsation
Is stealing life away.
"A hundred threads a minute,
A hundred drops of gore,"
The sad and thrilling measures
We've never learned before -- 

CHORUS:
The shadows are weaving a silver tint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint.

We've clad the fallen heroes
With garments we have made,
By light we now are picking,
The fearful tide be stayed;
We lift our hearts to Heaven,
Our Father's blessings crave,
Behold our smitten country,
O bless the fallen brave --

CHORUS:
O, bright are the jewels from love's deep mint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint,
God bless the fingers while picking the lint.

Songs of the Confederacy