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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 before dawn !"
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."
The sun's bright lances 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 al^ forlorn— The foe had better ne'er been born,
Than get in " Stonewall's way."