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     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!
Here's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
     Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Yankees whipped before,
     ‘Bayonets 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!

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Stonewall (4)
Stonewall Jackson (4)
J. E. B. Stuart (2)
S. J. Pope (2)
Ashby (2)
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