Gone, Gonna Rise Again

I remember the year my grandaddy died

(Gone, gonna rise again)

They dug his grave on a mountainside

(Gone, gonna rise again)

I was too young to understand

The way he felt about the land

But I could read his history in his hands

(Gone, gonna rise again)

Corn in the crib and apples in the bin

Ham in the smokehouse, cotton in the gin

Cows in the barn and hogs in the plot

You know he never had a lot

But he worked like the devil for the little he'd got

Those apple trees on the mountainside

He planted the seeds just before he died

I guess he knew he'd never see

The red fruit hanging from the tree

But he planted those seeds for his children and me

High on a ridge above the farm

I think of my people that have gone on

Like a tree that grows in the mountain ground

The storms of life have cut them down

But the new wood springs from the roots underground