It kum from the Dijytrad, Amos. So did this'un:

RIDING A RAID

'Tis old Stonewall, the Rebel, that leans on his sword
And, while we are mounting, prays low to the Lord:
"Now each Cavalier that loves Honor and Right
Let him follow the feather of Stuart tonight!"

cho: Come tighten your girth and slacken your rein,
Come buckle your blanket and holster again;
Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade
For he must ride sure that goes riding a raid!

Now gallop, now gallop, to swim or to ford!
Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord:
"Good-bye dear old Rebel! The river's not wide,
And Maryland's lights in her window to guide."

There's a man in a white house with blood on his mouth!
If there's knaves in the North, there are braves in the South
We are three thousand horses and not one afraid;
We are three thousand sabres and not a dull blade.

Then gallop, then gallop, by ravines and by rocks!
Who would bar us the way take his toll in hard knocks
For with these points of steel, on the line of Penn,
We have made some fine strokes --- and we'll make 'em again!

Ya kin sing it to the tune of "Bonnie Dundee" iffen ya got a mind ta.
Y'all might also sing

STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY
(J. W. Palmer)

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
The 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,
"Hear us, Almighty 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 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!"
Is 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.

* original reads "In forma pauperis to God"