"Who've we got there?" "Only a dying brother, Hurt in the front just now." "Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother Where he was killed, and how." "Whom have you there?" "A crippled courier, Major, Shot by mistake, we hear. He was with Stonewall." "Cruel work they've made here; Quick with him to the rear!" "Well, who comes next?" "Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir; Don't let the men find out! It's Stonewall!" "God!" "The brigade must not know, sir, While there's a foe about!" Whom have we here--shrouded in martial manner, Crowned with a martyr's charm? A grand dead hero, in a living banner, Born of his heart and arm: The heart whereupon his cause hung--see how clingeth That banner to his bier! The arm wherewith his cause struck--hark! how ringeth His trumpet in their rear. What have we left? His glorious inspiration, His prayers in council met; Living, he laid the first stones of a nation; And dead, he builds it yet.

"Stonewall" Jackson

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Last modified 16-April-2001