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 queer slouched hat,
Cocked over his eye askew:
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
The "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 Massa 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; we'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 morn That s Stonewall Jackson s Way.
