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作曲 : John W. Palmer |
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Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, |
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Stir up the camp-fire bright; |
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No matter if the canteen fails, |
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We'll make a rousing night! |
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Here Shenandoah brawls along, |
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And burly Blue-Ridge echoes strong, |
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To swell our brigade's rousing song |
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Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." |
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We see him now, - the old slouched hat, |
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Cocked o'er his eye askew; |
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The shrewd, dry smile, - the speech so pat, |
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So calm, so blunt, so true. |
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That "Blue-Light Elder," knows him well. |
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Says he, "that's Banks, - he's fond of shell; |
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Lord save his soul! we'll give him - well." |
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That's Stonewall Jackson's way. |
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Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! |
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Old "Blue Light's" going to pray. |
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Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! |
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Attention! That's his way. |
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Appealing from his native sod, |
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"Hear us, hear us, oh mighty God," |
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Lay "tare Thine arm; stretch forth thy rod, |
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"That's Stonewall Jackson's way." |
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He's in the saddle now, Fall in! |
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Steady the whole brigade; |
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Hill's at the ford, cut off, we'll win |
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His way out, ball and blade! |
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What matter if our shoes are worn? |
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What matter if our feet are torn? |
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Quick-step! we're with him there at dawn! |
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That's "Stonewall Jackson's way." |
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The sun's bright lances, rout the mists, |
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Of morning, and by George! |
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Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists, |
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Hemmed in an ugly gorge. |
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Pope and his Yankees, fierce before, |
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"Bay'nets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar; |
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"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!" |
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In "Stonewall Jackson's way." |
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Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn |
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For news of Jackson's band! |
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Ah! Widow, read, with eyes that burn, |
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That ring upon thy hand; |
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Ah! Wife, sew on, hope on, and pray |
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Thy life shall not be all forlorn |
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The foe had better ne'er been born |
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That gets in "Stonewall's way." |
