STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY
by John Williamson Palmer
(1825-1906)

Come, stack arms, men. Pile on the rails,
   Stir up the campfire bright;
No matter if the canteen fails,
   We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
   There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade's rousing song
   Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."

We see him now--the old slouched hat
   Cocked o'er his eye askew--
The shrewd, dry smile--the speech so pat--
   So calm, so blunt, so true.
That "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well--
   Says he, "That's Banks; he's fond of shell--
Lord save his soul! We'll give him"...well,
   That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."

Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
   Old Blue Light's going to pray;
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff;
   Attention; it's his way!
Appealing from his native sod,
   In forma pauperis to God--
"Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod;
Amen." That's "Stonewall's way."

He's in the saddle now! Fall in!
   Steady, the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off! He'll win
   His way out, ball and blade.
What matter if our shoes are worn?
   What matter if our feet are torn?
"Quick step--we're with him ere the dawn!"
   That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."

The sun's bright glances rout the mists
  Of morning, and, by George!
There's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
   Hemmed in an ugly gorge--
Pope and his Yankees whipped before--
   "Bayonet and grape!" hear Stonewall roar,
"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score
   In Stonewall Jackson's way."

Ah, maiden! wait and watch and yearn
   For news of Stonewall's band!
Ah, widow! read with eyes that burn
   That ring upon thy hand!
Ah, wife! sew on, pray on, hope on,
  Thy life shall not be all forlorn--
The foe had better ne'er been born,
   That gets in Stonewall's way.