Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails, Stir up the campfire bright; No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, Here burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, To swell the Brigade's rousing song of Stonewall Jackson's way.
]We see him now - the old 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" 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 Jackson's way.
Ah, maiden, wait and watch, and yearn For news of Stonewall's band! Ah, widow, read, and 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.