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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

John Williamson Palmer (1825–1906)

Stonewall Jackson’s Way

COME, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,

Stir up the camp-fire bright;

No growling 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 queer slouched hat

Cocked o’er 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 Blue Light’s goin’ 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 Jackson’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.”

The sun’s bright lances rout the mists

Of morning, and, by George!

Here’s Longstreet, struggling in the lists,

Hemmed in an ugly gorge;

Pope and his Dutchman, whipped before.

“Bay’nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar;

“Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score!”

In “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”

Ah, maidens, 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.”